


Falsified Statements

by somedaynew



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, the office romcom hijinks we deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somedaynew/pseuds/somedaynew
Summary: When Jon lied to Basira about having a partner, he expected that to be the end of discussion. What he did not expect was an invitation to bring his partner along on a couples' retreat.When Martin is asked to be Jon's pretend boyfriend--ahem, partner--he expected to have a strange time. What he did not expect was to have possibly the most stressful weekend of his life.~~A fake dating AU where the Not!Them never got Sasha, Daisy and Basira went to counseling and escaped the hunt, and everyone's just happier in general
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 191
Kudos: 315





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updating every Monday!!  
> This is the first fic I've written in like 7 years, so go easy on me ok?

Martin had always considered himself an optimist, and the universe always seemed to find a way to punish him for that. The good things that happened to him always came with a monkey’s paw caveat attached. He would land a well-paying job but only through a series of intricate and perpetual lies. His mother would finally call him back but only to remind him that he needed to update his billing information at the care home. His boss would finally, without prompting, invite him to chat but only to request that Martin pretend to be his partner for a weekend outing.

“Excuse me,” Martin said with no small amount stuttering. “You want me to what?”

“Listen, I like the idea of it no better than you do, but I’ve been left with no choice.”

“I’m sorry, Jon, but how on earth have you been left with no other choice than to ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“Keep your voice down, Martin,” Jon hissed, craning his neck to look through his office door for potential eavesdroppers. “If I asked Tim there’d be no living it down. I ask Sasha and she just goes running to Tim and I get the same result just with more steps. I can at least trust you to keep some things to yourself.”

“Yes, but before that,” Martin snapped. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into that you need a pretend boyfriend?”

“Quit calling it that! I just-You remember the detective from after the Jane Prentiss incident? Basira? She’s been around.”

Martin nodded, keeping to himself that he knew exactly how often Basira had been back to the institute, that he had noted every single time the two of them had shut themselves in his office.

“She and I have become,” he trailed off, considering his word choice. “…Friends, but I made the mistake of telling her Tim thought the two of us were involved and the conversation was so awkward and moved so quickly that I told her I already had a partner just to diffuse the situation. Now, she’s going to a cabin in Scotland on holiday and has invited me and partner to come along.”

From Jon’s frantic retelling he could imagine exactly how the conversation had gone. Jon bringing up Tim’s misconception as a crack at humor, Basira misconstruing it instead as an attempt at flirting, the ensuing panicky back and forth denial, and Jon finally just spouting out that he already had a partner as a way of ending the conversation entirely. He laughed internally, but his laughter was quickly replaced with a certain thrill that Basira and Jon were not, in fact, together.

“So you’re not a couple then,” Martin finally replied.

“No, absolutely not. That was entirely Tim’s assumption based on a misconstrued interaction we had. Until now, I haven’t corrected him merely out of convenience. Why? Did he tell you and Sasha?”

“I’m not sure there’s anyone left working at the institute that he hasn’t told,” Martin chuckled.

“Fantastic.”

“Why not just tell her you lied? Or that you broke up?” 

Jon rubbed his hands over his face and slumped against his desk, obviously defeated. “Martin, if you must know and as I’m sure you’ve already observed, I don’t possess any affinity for making friends. I’m not inclined to tell someone I’ve only recently become friends with that I lied to their face. As for a breakup excuse, this trip is meant to be some kind of couple’s retreat as far I’m understanding it.”

“Couple’s retreat?” Martin squeaked.

“Basira’s partner thought it up,” Jon groaned. “They’ve invited another couple the two of them are friends with. Saying I broke up with my nonexistent partner and not going puts a damper on this new friendship thing and going by myself puts me in the very awkward position of being the only person on the trip not in a relationship.”

“So, you’ve backed yourself into a corner where your only option is this ridiculous scenario, then?”

“Unfortunately,” Jon replied, heaving a deep sigh. “Yes. I’ve thought it over again and again from every angle and this is my only option, Martin. Like I said, you’re more than welcome to say no. It won’t impact our professional relationship.”

Martin hummed in thought.

“If you do say yes, I’ll take care of any expenses of course. All you would be responsible for is enjoying a weekend away and telling some minor lies.”

“Accidentally exposing the fact that we’re not really together at the expense of your brand-new friendship isn’t exactly what I’d call minor, Jon,” Martin said in a tone which betrayed his exasperation.

“We’re friends already. Being partnered isn’t much different.”

“It’s very different!”

“Not really,” Jon insisted. “It’s not like I’m asking you to-to-to kiss me!”

Immediately their eyes snapped to the firmly shut door of Jon’s office. Martin could feel his face growing more and more red as Jon rifled through his desk at some attempt of acting casual.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. I, uh-The trip is this weekend so the sooner the better, but no pressure.”

“I’ll let you know, Jon.”

Martin’s head was spinning as he fled to his desk. His relationship with Jon had certainly improved since the Jane Prentiss incident, but the transition from estranged coworkers to uneasy friends had been strange enough as is. Now, the man who had openly expressed disdain towards him through a series of official, recorded statements was asking him to be his boyfriend-his fake boyfriend. Not that Martin had ever taken offence to Jon’s comments! No, he had just noted them as motivation to improve his work ethic. Besides, Jon had just started as Head Archivist and that must have been frustrating enough as is. Martin couldn’t imagine trying to deal with an inexperienced employee like himself on top of that.

His thoughts were still spiraling in this way when he made it back to the area where the archival assistants’ desks were arranged. Martin had barely even registered Tim and Sasha huddled together, obviously gossiping up until they’d spotted him. At least they were over here and not leaning against Jon’s office door. Trying to explain Jon’s outburst about kissing would have been impossible.

“So,” Tim asked, in that bombastic tone he applied when seeking out mischief. “Must have been something good with that kind of look on your face.”

“No, I-It was nothing. Just some basic stuff about statement research that needs to be done.”

“That’s the kind of thing Jon would have emailed about,” Sasha pointed out. “Not some sort of meeting that leaves you looking all distant and telling obvious lies.”

“Did he find some kind of lead on Gertrude’s murder, then,” Tim asked. “That lady friend cop of his give him some clues?”

Martin shot him a look. Tim knew it made him jealous to bring up Basira and her potential relationship with Jon. Of course, knowing now that they actually weren’t together staved off the jealousy, but it made Tim’s insistence on ribbing no less of a nuisance. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out Martin’s crush, and he extorted the comedy of it for his own entertainment whenever possible. If Martin asked him to stop, he certainly would, but there was something liberating about him and Sasha knowing. The matter at hand, however, was different. He’d been sworn to secrecy.

“It’s nothing like that, ok? Jon just…is doing something this weekend and…wants my help. That’s all there is to it.”

“Not very specific,” Sasha chimed, rolling on her chair back towards her desk.

“Not specific at all, Sash,” Tim singsonged back.

“Tim, we might need you to deploy some of the skills you picked up in research just to get to the bottom of this. Or maybe,” she mused, turning towards Martin. “I could just go over and ask Jon myself?”

“No,” Martin shouted, his face flushing again as he spun to face her. “I mean-sorry. Excuse me. I’ll tell you guys about it, ok? I’m just still thinking about whether or not to go through with it.”

Sasha rolled her eyes in a good-natured way and turned back towards her computer monitor. “It’s alright, Martin. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

“But if you do want to tell us, we’ll gladly listen!”

It was Martin’s turn to roll his eyes. He sat at his desk, and began to sort through the various paperwork, files, and research scattered across it. After his meeting with Jon and then Tim and Sasha’s nonsense, his mind was none too keen to focus on actual work. Jon had asked him last week to look further into that taxidermist shop in Barnet, but Martin didn’t have the first clue of where to start. He had specifically told Martin to gain as much information without actually going to the shop, but what research did that leave to be done? Phoning them up and asking “Do you have a body in your basement? Also, is _all _of your taxidermy possessed?”__

____

____

Martin was just mulling that over when he caught Sasha and Tim trading glances. They were doing that thing where they had entire conversations-usually about him-without saying a single word. Ever since he had confided in them about his interest in Jon, he caught them doing this kind of thing constantly. Such exchanges were full of pointed glances, barely restrained gestures, and ridiculously exaggerated expressions, lacking subtlety to the point that Martin believed they wanted him to notice. Normal people would just text, he thought to himself. 

Growing tired of ignoring them, he got up from his desk and beelined to Jon’s office. He could hear the protests from Tim, attempting to fish for more details, and Sasha urging him to shut up. If they wanted to gossip, Martin was going to give them something to gossip about.

“I’ll do it,” he said, determined, as soon as Jon’s office door closed behind him.

“Oh,” Jon said, startled. He was poised as if about to start a statement. One of those tape recorders at hand. “Of course. Thank you. That was rather quick all things considered.”

“We’ll need to talk about the details of course,” Martin replied, deciding not to engage Jon’s commentary.

“Right, yes. Well, they’ll be arriving at the cabin on Thursday night, so I figured we might do the same unless you’d like to leave early Friday-“

“No, Jon, I mean-“ It was Martin’s turn to put his head in his hands, removing his glasses before doing so. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I mean details about this fake relationship. I don’t want someone to ask a question I don’t know how to answer and make us both look stupid.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Right.”

“I have statements to record. I-Would you-We could get together this evening and figure it all out? I could buy us dinner?”

For some reason, that offer was now the most shocking part of this situation. Jon was known to stay late and regularly skip meals as a means of getting more work done. For him to so casually offer to both leave work at a (hopefully) reasonable) hour and get food was a shocking change of character. It hit Martin just how serious Jon was about this charade. He ignored the whisper of jealousy that Jon was so invested in his friendship with Basira.

Then, it hit Martin that Jon was offering to have dinner with _him. _On less productive days about the archive, he’d whiled away the hours daydreaming about such an offer. Now it was real. For a moment, the ridiculousness of a fake relationship fled his mind as he imagined having dinner with Jon. They’d shared lunches in the breakroom a handful of times but never shared a meal outside of work. The only time they had spent together outside of work was the one time all of the assistants had strong-armed Jon into getting ice cream on his birthday.__

____

____

“Where,” Martin asked as he emerged from his thoughts.

“Do you have any preference?” Jon was fidgeting with a pen. Something about seeing Jon with his own nervous ticks set Martin more at ease. “There’s a Thai place down the block. I order there sometimes and its pretty good.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll text you some details and see you after work then?”

“See you after work.”

Martin retreated once more from Jon’s office. Wanting to give himself time to gather his thoughts, he now made his way to the breakroom. A nice cup of tea and a moment to himself would help to put things in perspective.

The kettle had just begun to boil when he heard the door open and turned to find Sasha wandering in.

“Not here to bother you, Martin,” she reassured. “Just thought I might top off my water bottle.”

“Right.”

“But while I’m here…”

“Go on.”

“Oh nothing.” She waited a beat, looking expectantly at Martin as the tap ran, and continued on when he declined to answer. “Just seems like you have a lot on your mind. Running off to see Jon for a second time today and all. Usually you two aren’t quite so chummy.”

“No, not typically,” Martin answered, feigning annoyance. This entire scenario left him feeling like the entire world was upside down, but he had to admit it was pretty funny. He couldn’t keep his smile at bay any longer. “Alright, I’ll tell you, but Jon can’t know that you know.”

“Has it ever worked any other way,” she answered.

Martin took in a deep breath, knowing there was no going back from what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Jon needs someone to go with him on a couple’s retreat, and he asked me.”

“He asked you out?!” Tim cried, bursting into the breakroom and throwing the door shut behind him. “Martin! He really asked you out?”

“Tim! You were supposed to wait outside!”

Sasha lunged towards him, shushing him and clamping her hands over his mouth. The two of them squabbled back and forth a moment. Martin had expected something like this, and he was unable to keep his smile from growing as they bickered. 

He had never had anyone, let alone two people, be so invested in him before. Ever since coming back from being trapped by Jane, the three of them had made a real effort to connect with one another. If any of them ended up like that again, the other two would know immediately, they vowed. Now, everything Martin did they wanted to know about, and they were always the first to cheer him on. Even the mundane things like deciding to buy the nicer, more expensive brand of tea got him a sincere round of congratulations. It could be a little much at times, honestly, but it was nice to be cared about this much.

“Calm down,” Martin chided as their attention turned back towards him. “He didn’t ask me out for real. He lied to a friend about having a partner and now he wants me to help him lie.”

“Jon has other friends,” Tim joked. Sasha glared at him and waved her hands, gesturing for Martin to keep going.

“The friend invited him and his partner on a couple’s retreat and now he wants us to pretend to be an established couple. That way he doesn’t have to admit to lying to her.”

“Weird,” Sasha cried at the same time Tim said “What?”

“You can’t tell him I told you, though!”

“Oh don’t worry,” Sasha said, sidling up to Tim and slapping a hand back over his mouth. “Your fake boyfriend secret is safe with us.”

The whole dinner scenario hadn’t quite been the scene of budding romance Martin was dreaming up all afternoon. For starters, Jon was nearly half an hour late. He’d texted Martin he would be, but it was about the principle of the thing. The wait staff kept giving Martin sympathetic glances and asking if he was sure he didn’t want to order. He kept waving them off politely and checking his phone in a desperate hope for updates.

When Jon finally did show up, his eyes were glued to his phone. He looked up only long enough to locate Martin and redirected his attention. From the apparent lack of typing, he was reading something, probably research about a statement. It would be ridiculous really to expect Jon not to bring his work along to a dinner like this.

“I was thinking,” he began, putting his messenger bag directly onto the table and producing a notebook all without looking away from his phone. “That we could say we’ve been together for 5 months. Long enough that we would be familiar with one another but not so long that we’ve experienced any significant anniversaries or milestones.”

“Hello to you, too, Jon.”

He looked up at Martin, puzzled and then realization hit. “Right, sorry. Hello, Martin. I know I’m asking this favor of you and I left you waiting. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. I was hoping we’d eat together,” Martin said, immediately wishing he had bitten his tongue. He had meant to be casual, but it had come out needy.

Luckily, the waitress showed up right at that moment. Everything about the way she looked at Martin conveyed her surprise that he hadn’t actually been stood up. The two of them placed their orders and she disappeared towards the kitchen.

“What’s that,” Martin asked.

“Oh, uh, I may have prepared some ideas,” Jon said sheepishly.

“5 months, then, you said,” Martin prompted, feeling a warmth in his chest at seeing Jon like this.

“Yes,” Jon dropped his nervousness and focused his attention back to the notebook. “Like I said, after 5 months two people might be comfortable, but it’s not as if they would be moving in together or discussing marriage.”

“5 months makes sense,” Martin said, fighting the urge to balk at the mention of marriage. “That’s when everything with Jane Prentiss was happening”

“Oh,” Jon paused, scanning his notes. “I suppose it would have been.”

“Crazy to think it’s already been that long.”

“Yes, well, we can say that’s what brought us together,” he answered, scribbling furiously in his notebook. “That’s simpler than what I had planned anyway.”

Martin’s heart beat a little faster at the idea of Jon imagining how they might have gotten together.

“What did you have planned?” 

“Unimportant,” Jon said, killing Martin’s dreams without even looking up. “So, we’ll say five months. We’re exclusive, of course, but, like I said, nothing serious yet.”

The food arrived as Jon scanned through the pages, occasionally verbalizing what he’d written, more often crossing things out and scribbling more in. The only notice he took of the waitress was lifting his notebook enough to make room for his plate. Martin gave her an apologetic look and thanked her profusely to make up for Jon. She just shrugged and returned a look that seemed to say _You’re with this guy? ___

__“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, tapping a fork against Jon’s plate._ _

__“Hm? Oh, in a minute, maybe. Also, I think it’s for the best if we say we haven’t met one another’s families. Less information to memorize.”_ _

__It went on like this for close to an hour. Jon rattling off the details of this fake relationship as Martin quietly ate and agreed to whatever detail Jon thought was necessary. He shouldn’t have been, but he was most surprised over how thorough Jon was. There had been at least four pages of scattered notes to start out with and Martin was sure that number had grown to at least six. He did his best to commit it all to memory. It’s not like they could bring flash cards to reference throughout the trip._ _

__“Jon,” Martin interjected as Jon was modifying his notes on whether they ever stayed over at each other’s flats and how often. “Don’t you think we should also have some details about each other?”_ _

__“What would we need to know about each other?”_ _

__“Oh, I don’t know. Your favorite color or where you went to university, what your favorite food is? Basic stuff couples would find out after five months.”_ _

__“Green, Oxford, and I don’t have one,” Jon rattled off. “Anything else?”_ _

__“Aren’t you going to ask me?”_ _

__Jon sighed, finally looking up from his notebook. As the night had worn on the romantic thrill Martin had first experienced had worn off. Jon had barely picked at his food in the meantime. His gaze shifted from Martin to his plate and prodded at the lukewarm noodles._ _

__“Fine, Martin. Tell me.”_ _

__“You’re not being a very romantic fake boyfriend,” he teased._ _

__“Don’t,” Jon whispered, flushing slightly. “Don’t say that. Just tell me.”_ _

__“Well, my favorite color is blue. Like a desaturated kind of steely blue, you know? And-“ Martin stumbled, remembering his falsified CV. “And I got my masters in parapsychology. You already knew that.”_ _

__“Where from?” John asked albeit with a somewhat disinterested tone. At least he didn’t seem suspicious._ _

__“Cambridge.”_ _

__“Food,” Jon continued, unphased._ _

__“Not canned peaches. That’s for sure.”_ _

__Relief spread through Martin as Jon cracked the smallest of smiles and then, surprisingly, a small chuckle. Had he not been so worried about his secret being found out, Martin might’ve been offended that Jon was so indifferent as to not notice his obvious panic. For the moment, however, he was just pleased to see Jon actually smiling. With the discovery of the tunnels and trying to solve Gertrude’s murder, it was certainly a rare sight._ _

__“Well, Martin,” Jon said, tucking his notebook back into his bag. “I think we’ve covered everything we need to. Thank you, again.”_ _

__Martin gathered his things as well and followed Jon. After paying at the stand near the front of the restaurant, they made their way outside. Jon paid for Martin despite his insistence, firm in his resolve that this was one of the expenses he had promised to accommodate earlier._ _

__“Elias is ok with this,” Martin inquired as they emerged into the night air, suddenly desperate for their time together to continue._ _

__“I told him we would be researching a statement. Didn’t seem all that concerned, honestly.” Jon idled on the pavement for a moment. There was a strange tension humming through the air. Martin watched as he fidgeted with the strap to his bag, eyes downcast. “Thursday, then?”_ _

__“Wait,” Martin said, causing Jon’s eyes to shoot up to meet his. “God, I hate to even ask this.”_ _

__“Ask what?”_ _

__“You said in your office that you weren’t asking me to kiss you or anything-“_ _

__“Correct,” Jon interrupted._ _

__“Right. Thank god. Well, is there any,” Martin gestured wildly. “Touching? That you do want? To be more convincing as a couple?”_ _

__Jon’s eyes were wide and looked back to the ground. Martin was glad for it considering the blush that was taking over his complexion._ _

__“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“_ _

__“No,” Jon said with surety. “You’re right. I myself am not overly inclined to casual touch, but you’re right. A couple of five months would, every so often, touch…one another”_ _

__Martin nodded, convinced that his pounding heartbeat must be audible from down the block._ _

__“I’m not asking you to kiss me,” he reiterated. “We could…hold hands. Occasionally. Only enough to prove the point. Nothing too much. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”_ _

__“What about what you’re comfortable with?”_ _

__“I got us into this mess. It won’t kill me to hold your hand a few times.” Jon offered a watery smile without meeting Martin’s eye. “Bring your bag with you on Thursday. We’ll leave after work.”_ _

__“Sounds like a plan.” Martin expected them to walk together to the tube station, but he noticed Jon shift back towards the institute. “Where are you going?_ _

__“Oh, I, uh, I still have some things to get done this evening. Fell behind on statements while making notes and all.”_ _

__“See you tomorrow then?”_ _

__Jon nodded. Briefly he looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it and turned in the direction of the archives. Martin, in his inability to be anything other than a hopeless romantic, stood and watched him go for a while until turning in the opposite direction. He could only imagine Jon reading one statement after the other late into the night. More than once while staying in the archives, Martin had knocked on his office door early in the morning only to find him slumped over his desk, glasses pressed to his face, fast asleep, wearing his clothes from the day before. It was as endearing as it was worrying._ _

__When Martin finally reached his apartment and had the door closed firmly behind him, he let out the strangled scream he’d been holding in since this morning. He slumped against the door and slid down into a sitting position. This was going to be an absolute mess. For three days Martin had committed himself to some awful chimera of convincing four strangers he was in love while convincing Jon that he absolutely wasn’t. What kind of idiot got themselves into that kind of situation?_ _

__He found himself reeling from the realization that everything he had wanted was about to be dumped into his lap. Martin mentally checked off “Go out to dinner with Jon” from the list. The only romance there had been the discussion of how best to pull it off, but Martin cringed at the thought of what came ahead._ _

__At some point he would hold Jon’s hand and have to play it completely cool. At some point they would sit next to each other at dinner and be asked about their relationship and he would have to act like he wasn’t reciting from a memorized script. At some point Martin Blackwood would be introduced as Jon’s boyfriend and he would have to pretend that he wouldn’t give anything for that to be true._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Asking the damn question had been hard enough as is. Now, Jon had to deal with the reality that he was actually going through with this insane plan. Countless times throughout the week he had considered taking Martin’s idea and telling Basira they’d broken up, but that was more trouble than it was worth. He’d still have to deal with being the only non-partnered person there and then he’d have to explain everything to Martin. Besides, he had put so much effort into drafting those notes.

As with all things, Jon poured himself into his work as a means of avoiding thinking about the trip. He’d actually been rather productive this week. Statements were recorded and filed, and paperwork was all but caught up. Jon even considered going out into the archives and doing some tidying of the dustier corners of his department. Instead, he used his spare time to further explore the tunnels, hoping in vain to find some concrete evidence as to the identity of Gertrude’s murderer.

He was also working to such an extent as a way of avoiding his assistants’ attention. He had caught on eventually that Tim and Sasha knew. Their knowing glances, hushed exchanges, and snickering had told him as much. Jon figured from the start that Martin would tell them, but also made the right assumption that he would bind them to secrecy. Or, at least as much secrecy as those two gossip hounds could manage. 

Today in particular he was trying to avoid Martin. Regret colored his memory of how he had treated him in their first few months at the archive, and now he couldn’t stand the idea of interacting with Martin with all of this hanging over their heads. The two of them were practically friends these days but trying to have a casual water cooler chat after asking him to be a pretend date would be impossible. Martin seemed to have the same idea, either ducking awkwardly into doorways at the sight of him or giving a prompt wave and looking away without another word. For now, they could mutually ignore one another and look forward to normalcy on Monday.

The day was dragging on at an agonizing pace. The preceding week had been torturously long, but the last seven hours at the institute might as well have been seventy days. This morning Jon decided to leave his office door open and the only thing reliably marking the passage of time were the regular occurrences in which Tim would drift past his door, not-so-subtly glancing inside each time. Finally, after perhaps the 20th instance of Tim doing this Jon had had enough.

“Just come in, won’t you,” he called.

“Boss!” Tim replied jovially, spinning himself 180 degrees to duck his head in the door. “You just caught me! I was on my way to artefact storage! What can I do for you?”

“Come sit down, Tim. We both know you’ve been waiting for an invitation all day.”

“Oh no, I’ve just had places to be today. This has nothing to do with you taking our Martin out on a long, romantic weekend getaway.” Tim planted his elbows on Jon’s desk and cradled his chin in his hands, eyebrows bobbing all the while. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at him. “Oh, come on, Jon. You had to know this would happen. Couldn’t let you try to pull a stunt like this without a bit of good-natured fun.”

“This is your idea of fun, then,” Jon asked flatly.

“Oh yes, it’s very fun for me and Sash, and Martin won’t admit it but he’s having fun, too. Can’t wait for all the fun stories he’ll bring us on Monday. I’ll have material for months!”

“You’ll have nothing of the sort. I’ll be bringing along my work, and I’m sure Martin will be kept busy by whatever festivities our hosts have arranged.”

A mixture of confusion and concern passed across Tim’s features for an instant before being replaced by his usual carefree grin.

“Does Martin know that?”

“Martin is aware that there will be plenty of activities to entertain him this weekend, and if not I’m sure he can find a way to occupy himself.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jon. It doesn’t suit you,” Tim retorted, leaning back and kicking his feet up. Jon made an attempt to shoo him away, but he only dropped his shoes onto the desktop harder the second time. “You should hear the way he’s been talking. Thinks the two of you will come away from this weekend as proper besties.”

“I’m sure he’ll temper his expectations.”

“What if they make you kiss,” Tim asked, swiveling both himself and the topic of conversation dramatically.

“Good God, Tim! No one is going to make us do anything.”

“You don’t know that. What if they get suspicious and you have to prove your fake love? Do you think you’ll go for a full snog or just a little peck?”

“I’m going to report you to HR if you don’t get out of my office right now.”

“That’s why you’re the boss! Have a fun weekend!”

Jon sighed deeply, watching Tim hurry back in the direction of the assistants’ desks. Honestly, the thought had crossed his mind. A proper kiss would quell any suspicion, but the thought of it embarrassed him so deeply that Jon doubted he could manage to be at all convincing. Besides, he and Martin had already talked about it and put it off the table. Hand holding would have to do.

He had been a little surprised at his own disappointment at Martin’s lack of enthusiasm. Jon could admit that if, say, Sasha had requested the same of him he wouldn’t be elated, but he wouldn’t mind doing her the favor. Martin on the other hand had properly recoiled at the idea. Later in the night when he asked how much he would have to touch Jon, with that awful twist of embarrassment in his voice, had only assured him of just how uncomfortable Martin was to be associated with him. He didn’t know why Martin’s reaction bothered him so much, but it did.

Throughout the day he reassured himself that their relationship was a working one first and foremost and this wasn’t worth the level of concern he was giving it. Jon did his best to put it out of his mind. 

He idly responded to emails and organized a few statements to bring with him on the trip until the end of the workday arrived. As the clock turned 5, he loaded a tape recorder, the written statements he planned on recording and his laptop into his messenger bag and locked his office. 

Standing at his office door, Jon had clear view of the assistants’ desks and could already see Tim and Sasha whispering excitedly. Making his way over, Sasha gave Tim a solid swat to the arm to shut up whatever inane joke he was in the middle of telling. Martin had taken notice of Jon’s approach as well and was pointedly ignoring their banter. He gathered his backpack and duffel bag and made a distracted, last minute attempt at organizing the clutter on his desk.

“Tim. Sasha,” Jon acknowledged. “I hope the two of you have a pleasant weekend. You’re free to have the day off tomorrow if you wish, but you’re also more than welcome to come in and continue working.”

“Absolutely, Mr.Sims,” Tim said, earning another smack.

“Don’t listen to him, Jon. We hope you guys have a nice weekend!”

“All things considered, I’m hoping it will be rather unremarkable.”

“Right,” Martin jumped in. “It’s going to be just like any normal weekend.”

“I didn’t know normal weekends included a bit of light romantic improv with the boss, but ok,” Tim muttered. This time, Sasha shoved him enough that his swivel chair rolled several feet away.

“Do you have all your things then,” Jon asked, turning to Martin.

“Right here,” Martin responded brightly, raising his duffel bag with one hand and patting it with the other. “All ready to go!”

Tim and Sasha traded yet another knowing glance, a glance which Jon decided to ignore. Martin said his goodbyes and the two of them made their way out of the institute. Martin lagged behind as he took the time to say goodbye and exchange brief pleasantries with each institute employee they passed by. Jon had no such interest in banal conversation and was standing at his car, tapping his foot impatiently, when Martin finally hurried into the lot and caught up with him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you waiting,” Martin said anxiously as he loaded his bag into the car. “And uh, sorry about Tim and Sasha, by the way. I know you told me not to tell them. They’re just so insistent that it was hard not to.”

“No, it’s alright. I expected you would.”

“You what?”

“The three of you are close,” Jon explained. “It would be unfair of me to think you wouldn’t. Nothing that didn’t fulfill my expectations of the three of you.”

“Oh.”

Jon looked forward to a ride devoid of meaningless chatter and believed that would be the case as they began their departure. Despite his lacking social awareness, though, he quickly came to understand that this was not a comfortable silence. His word choice had been a bit more severe than he’d anticipated and he could see now the way it had dampened Martin’s mood. 

“Music?” Martin asked after a few minutes.

“I, uh-I don’t really listen to anything in the car,” Jon replied.

“I see.”

“But you can put something on,” he said in a hurried way. They weren’t even out of London yet and he’d already soured a social situation. He decided to try again. “What I mean to say is, I don’t have any preferences. Play whatever you want.”

“We really don’t have to-"

Jon felt a spike of annoyance. “For the love of god, Martin, just put something on.”

Immediately after speaking those words, he knew it was yet again the wrong thing to say and the wrong way to say it. The preceding annoyance dissolved into a sludge of regret, pooling in the bottom of his ribcage. 

Martin had eked out some response which could have either been “sorry” or “alright” and was fiddling with the radio dial. He scanned through the available stations, never settling on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Clearly Martin’s desire to listen to music had evaporated. It made Jon feel terrible.

“Doesn’t seem like anything good’s on,” Martin mumbled, flicking the volume back down and withdrawing his hand. He slumped against the window and turned away.

This was exactly why making friends was so difficult, Jon thought to himself. Everything he said was always wrong in some way, and then he got frustrated at the misunderstanding, and then he took his frustration out on everyone around him. He knew the fault was his own, but it didn’t make the constant, aggravating mismatch in communication any easier. 

Across years of consistent frustration, he had withdrawn significantly. If basic conversation was going to be a point of contention both for himself and everyone else involved, he would keep it to a minimum. Communication was nothing more than a necessity. Certainly, he would chat casually with Tim during their time in research or joke about Americans with Sasha, but such instances were rarely initiated by Jon.

But this was different. He told himself he was going to try this weekend. He had assured himself of that-had _been _assuring himself of that all week, giving up now just because his phrasing had carried the false pretense of irritation wasn’t in the spirit of developing friendships. Jon decided to try again.__

____

____

“Do you have anything on your phone we could listen to?”

“Jon, it’s really alright,” Martin said distantly, turning further towards the window.

“No, Martin. Listen to me.” Clenching his hands around the steering wheel, he noticed Martin’s eyes shift to his periphery. Everything about his posture was guarded, but he was listening. That was a good sign. “I know I can be a bit of a prick. I know what you all say. All of this is getting to me a bit, but that’s no excuse to be so snappish with you. You’re doing me a rather significant favor, after all.”

From the corners of Jon’s own vision, he could see a tentative smile replace Martin’s gloomy frown. He rifled through the backpack at his feet and produced his phone. After clicking through a few menus and swiping through a few more, he finally settled on something he considered acceptable. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have an aux cable,” Martin asked, turning towards Jon with a renewed cheerfulness.

“Oh, uh. No. Sorry.”

Inexplicably, Jon felt himself blushing as he braced himself for yet another round of disappointment. Instead, Martin just maintained his warm smile.

“It’s alright! Wouldn’t make sense for you to have one if you don’t listen to stuff anyway.” Martin quickly typed something into his phone as Jon nodded. “You mind if we just listen through my phone’s speakers?”

“By all means,” Jon said, and Martin’s shift in mood had him feeling emboldened enough to make an attempt at humor. “Besides, I want to see what brand of soft acoustics you’ll be playing for our trip.”

“Who says I listen to soft acoustic music,” Martin cried with playful defensiveness. “For all you know, I listen to heavy death metal a-and dark…screamo.”

“Dark screamo?” Jon asked, skeptical amusement coloring his tone.

“It could be a thing!”

They shared a laugh over Martin’s subsequent attempt and failure to come up with an intense sounding genre and immediately, Jon could feel all tension melt away. Martin’s characteristic beaming smile had returned, and, sure enough, some gentle guitar strumming was coming through his phone’s speakers. Jon peeled his eyes from the road long enough to give him a teasing look which was returned with a good humored roll of the eyes. 

Once more he felt himself blushing and batted away the feeling. He was nearly in his thirties. Getting all worked up over a friendly interaction was childish nonsense. 

Besides, Jon told himself, he had too much on his plate this weekend to pay attention to that feeling-whatever it was. For one, he had to get through this weekend without blowing his cover or irreparably damaging the one friendship outside of the office he had managed to form in years. Jon wanted to believe that Basira’s friendship was so important to him because of her connection to the police, but truly a small part of him was thrilled to know someone well enough that they would invite him along to something like this.

Beyond that, and always ever-present in his mind, was Gertrude’s murder. Jon had eventually ruled out the archival staff, but whoever had killed her would have to have known about the tunnels. The tapes Basira had been supplying him with had certainly been helpful at unraveling all that bound the archives in mystery but did little to actually solve anything else. He had more questions now than he had upon discovering her body. The more he learned about his predecessor, the less Jon felt he understood. 

He was distracted from this train of thought by a more upbeat song, the rhythm of which he’d been subconsciously tapping his fingers to. From the corner of his eye, he could see Martin suppressing a smile and texting something to someone. Jon initially meant to ignore this observation, but the rapid pace at which Martin was typing and the following _buzz buzz buzz _of replies coming in just as quickly left him unable to deter his own curiosity.__

____

____

“Is that Tim and Sasha,” he asked, trying to avoid physically peeking.

“Yeah, they’re just, uh,” Martin stuttered, flushing a bright red and mashing the screen with a panicked vigor before clicking the screen off. “Doing their usual jokes. I can tell them to stop if you want? Or just set down my phone and not look. Or-or go technology free. Turn it off and-”

“No, I don’t mind. I imagine they have plenty to say now that I’m not around to stop them.”

Martin laughed nervously. “Yeah, this whole thing’s like catnip to them, really.”

“I knew it would be,” Jon mused, trying to set Martin at ease. “I’m just glad they were able to restrain themselves until we were out of the archive.”

“Around you, maybe! They’ve been after me all week.”

“What have they been saying," he prompted. 

“For starters they keep calling this our honeymoon.”

Martin froze the instant he realized what he’d said. His eyes went wide and he looked in any direction other than towards Jon. 

“Is that all,” he said flippantly, fending off his own embarrassed reaction.

“That’s hardly even the start!” Martin exclaimed. He angled himself towards Jon and his hand gestures grew extravagant in his enthusiasm. “Sasha kept suggesting we wear matching outfits, and then Tim threatened to have flowers delivered to your office in my name today.”

“Oh lord.”

“Right? One of them-well, probably both of them now that I think about it-left a flier on my desk for chocolate covered strawberries! The flier said something about ‘elevating your romance.’ Can you believe that? Oh, and then I nearly strangled Tim when he wouldn’t stop sending me emails linking me to articles on acting tips and tricks.”

“Was this through your institute emails?”

A beat passed between them.

“…oh.”

And then Jon let himself laugh. A true, hearty laugh. Martin joined in and soon they were both in a fit of near hysteria. Jon hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming sense of relief that letting loose like this would allow him. He had spent so long mired in the strangeness of the archives that a brief moment of happiness like this almost felt foreign. 

“I suppose for an organization like ours acting tips and flower delivery inquiries are far from the worst thing to pass through our system,” Jon managed to say after composing himself.

“At least it’s a bit more sensical than that week where my search history was just filled with variations on ‘reincarnating evil spider.’”

“Or ‘clown doll brought to life by evil pipe organ.’”

They descended into laughter again. Jon looked over just in time to see Martin looking back at him, wiping away a joyful tear.

The drive ahead of them was long, and they both settled into a comfortable mix of chat and silence. Jon learned about Martin’s love of cows. Couldn’t avoid learning it, really, the way he pointed out each new herd as they passed. He hated the word in nearly all contexts, but he couldn’t help but find it adorable. 

Eventually, they pulled over for dinner. Jon could’ve gone without it, but the groaning of Martin’s stomach had grown loud enough to be heard over both the music and their conversation. His face flushed each time it happened and insisted it was nothing. Jon knew better.

They decided on something quick for the sake of getting back on the road. The day had already dragged on long enough and Jon was eager to get to their destination. Martin tried again to pay for himself and it was only after a firm refusal from Jon that he relented. Before going in they had scouted out a picnic bench that they ate at after receiving their food.

“I am curious, Jon,” Martin said unprompted. “Why me? I mean, I know you said that I was the best bet at keeping something under wraps, or maybe not, but uh, was there really no one else?”

What an excellent question. Jon had wondered exactly that an exhaustive amount of times. He had attempted at first to invite Georgie. They’d been together once before. It wouldn’t be hard to pull off again, and she did owe him a favor after he helped her track down the admiral in a torrential rainstorm. She was busy this weekend, unfortunately. But why, then, had his mind instantly been made up that Martin was his only other option?

He had attempted to consider Tim and Sasha but ruled them out for the reasons he already stated. Maybe one of his other old friends from Oxford would have been willing, but he hadn’t even thought of that. It would invite too much potential awkwardness to call up someone he hadn’t seen in years just to ask them to do this. Then again asking his coworker that he’d only recently come to good terms with was no less strange.

“Jon?”

“I told you,” Jon replied curtly. “I don’t exceed expectations when it comes to friendships. You could have said no.”

“No, I know,” Martin said, paying no mind to Jon’s thorny tone. “I’m excited for this, actually. I just didn’t know you were…”

“What?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“You know what, forget it,” he brushed off, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Do you know anything about the other people that are coming? You mentioned another couple?”

“I hadn’t thought to ask,” Jon mumbled.

“Oh, wonderful, Jon,” Martin joked. “For all we know, we’re on the way to the middle of nowhere Scotland to potentially spend the weekend with a group of serial killers.”

“Basira and her partner are both police officers. I doubt they would be on holiday with murderers.”

“All I’m saying is if someone pulls a knife, I’m using you as a distraction and getting out of there.”

“Me?” Jon asked, bafflement coloring his laughter.

“Yeah, you!” Martin pointed an accusing finger across the table, grinning all the while. “I’ve had enough of spooky evil people trying to kill me. I think it’s your turn.”

“You forget that Jane tried to kill all of us.”

“You forget that she trapped me in my apartment for weeks and you thought a bad stomachache was a believable alibi.”

Jon bit back the urge to tell Martin about the incident with Michael and Helen Richardson. They were joking around, clearly having fun. Martin was comfortable enough to joke about Jane Prentiss and Jon had no intention of ruining the pleasant, easygoing flow of conversation they’d developed. Bringing up his visit from Michael would ruin that. Martin would only get worried and try to fuss over him.

“Alright, Martin, you win,” Jon allowed, feeling a bit of pride as Martin straightened his posture and smiled triumphantly.

They rose from the picnic table and returned to the car, trading more barbs about who was more deserving of murder attempts and what kinds of people might be waiting for them at the cabin. It made Jon forget any uncertainty he’d had about inviting Martin. 

At some point along the road they stumbled onto the topic of childhood hobbies. Jon told Martin about his insatiable reading habit, a topic which Martin had no shortage of questions about. Apparently, he had been similarly bookish, but his tastes were far more discerning. He’d even recently reread several of the more memorable books from his childhood and regaled Jon with what he could remember. 

The farther they drove, the more Jon realized how much he didn’t know about Martin. Their conversation jumped from topic to topic and each one held a new revelation. Martin had a pet dog as a child, but his mother made him rehome it less than a year after adopting it. He had a scar on his knee from falling off a horse on a field trip. Martin worked in a grocery store for nearly five years. He learned to cut his own hair to save money and also because he felt like his barber never really listened to what he wanted.

Martin had only been back to a professional one time in regard to his hair. Jon bit back laughter through Martin’s retelling of a desire to flex his rebelliousness with a box of black hair dye. Feeling out of sorts and in need of some level of control, he locked himself in the bathroom at 2 in the morning and laid siege upon his mousy curls. He woke up the next morning to find black smudges spattered across his skin, sink, and shower and an inky void where his hair had once been. According to Martin, the stylist had done what she could with bleach and then finally just shaved his head. Jon, now outright giggling, tried to imagine it and couldn’t. Martin, now blushing, refused to show any pictures. 

Lapsing naturally into another silence, Jon wondered if this was all information Tim and Sasha were already privy to. His self-imposed separation from the others in the archives had never bothered him before, but something about learning all of this, knowing it was information he could have had all along instead of learning it on a road trip, left him feeling a touch lonely. Maybe if he left his office more often? No. Institute matters were more important than socializing. He had to remind himself of that.

Getting closer, they had fallen into a routine where Martin would occasionally check the GPS on Jon’s phone and declare how much farther they had to go. He’d been doing so for the last two hours, and Jon never tired of his optimistic outlook. With each cheerful exclamation, the distance grew shorter. Jon couldn’t help the growing warmth in his chest.

“Almost there! Only ten minutes!”

“Finally.”

They drove through a little village and then through a series of winding backroads until finally arriving at the cabin. In the driveway was one other car and a campervan and four figures were milling about the front porch. It was already rather late, but he felt a distinct appreciation that the four of them were all waiting to greet him and Martin. 

Jon parked and opened the hatch so that he and Martin could get their things. His mood quickly plummeted to growing dread at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Jon? Jon, oh my god! Jon! Basira! This is your Jon?!”

Jon turned just in time for Georgie to throw her full weight against him in a bear hug. So, she hadn’t lied about being busy this weekend.

His dread was not a matter of any bad blood between the two of them. No, it was due to the fact that Georgie would not hesitate in divulging any embarrassing information about him to Martin and then anything she told him would surely make its way back to Tim and Sasha as well. In his mind, Jon could see his carefully curated image of a professional academic crumbling away to nothing.

“Georgie,” he replied, making no attempt to mask his disappointment. “What an interesting surprise.”

“You two know one another,” Basira asked, finally making herself known.

“This is uni-era, ex-boyfriend Jon,” a woman with a blonde, choppy bob with dyed blue ends asked, snorting audibly. Her voice, unfortunately, he also recognized. Melanie King. “Because this is also jerk, weirdo Jon who refused to believe my Sarah story.”

“No way!” Georgie cried. She opened her mouth for some other exclamation but was cut off by Basira.

“So you all know each other?”

“Not me,” Martin piped up, standing to the side and clutching his duffel bag like a life preserver.

“No, I know you,” Melanie asserted, walking up to him and planting a stern finger in the middle of his chest. “You’re also one of those Magnus Institute creeps.”

“Wait.” Now it was Basira’s turn to approach Martin, perplexed. “Jon, you brought a coworker?”

Jon wanted nothing more at this point than to get back behind the driver’s seat and get the hell out of here. Here he was, 7 hours from London, in Scotland of all places, trapped between his ex-girlfriend and her new girlfriend-a woman who made no effort to disguise her hatred of him-all while sitting on the world’s most intricate lie. This was not going to be the relaxing, friendship boost getaway he had hoped for.

“Well, yes,” Martin said, surprising Jon by taking his hand. “But not exclusively.”

“I see,” Basira smirked.

“We don’t make much habit of talking about it around the office,” Martin offered in order to compensate for Jon’s shocked silence.

“I can understand that.”

The last of the remaining quartet finally spoke up as she wound her arms around Basira, planting her chin on her shoulder. She was tall and muscular, and smiled at Jon amiably, a reaction he was not accustomed to eliciting from strangers. Well, not a reaction he was accustomed to eliciting from anyone, really.

“You must be Daisy.”

“Indeed, and you seem to be the Jon that Basira talks so much about. I was about to hunt you down myself if we didn’t properly meet soon.” She detached herself partially from Basira, enough for a handshake which Jon and Martin accepted one after the other. “And everyone else seems to already know your boyfriend.”

“Partner.”

“Not true!” Georgie jumped back in. “I still have no idea, either.”

“You’re the one that got trapped in your house by all those worms, right?”

“Basira,” Daisy scolded, fighting off a smile. “Maybe it would be best if we all just took a moment to introduce ourselves. Clear up any potential confusion. I’ll start. I’m Daisy, Basira’s partner in crime and in love.” 

“Oh, quit that. We’re retiring anyway.”

“What? You’re retiring,” Jon asked, surprised for an entirely new reason. 

“Yeah, Jon,” Basira confirmed. “All this section stuff, it starts to weigh on you. We figure it’s better to get out now before something gets to us one way or another.”

Jon’s thoughts began drifting to everything he would lose without Basira’s police connection. If she retired, would the next officer be as helpful investigating Gertrude’s murder? Would he have to give back the tapes Basira had been giving him? Would they even listen to him?

Then, all of that was interrupted by the feeling of Martin gently squeezing his hand. He gave Jon a reassuring smile and shifted to stand closer to him, grounding him in the moment. The warm feeling that had developed during the drive returned. He decided to mark it up to gratitude and not think any more on the feelings that Martin’s presence inspired.

“I think everyone knows me,” Basira said, glancing around the arrangement of people. “We don’t know each other so much, Martin, but I guess that’s what this weekend’s for.”

“Hi, Martin! I’m Georgie. Melanie already kind of spoiled it, but yeah, Jon and I did date back at Oxford. But that was years ago, now! Looks like things have changed for both of us.”

She winked, then. Jon did his best not to collapse from embarrassment. He made eye contact with Melanie for a brief moment as Georgie hugged Martin and she supplied him with a death glare.

“Nice to meet you, Georgie,” Martin replied with a genuine smile. “Jon’s mentioned you a few times, so it’s nice finally meeting you in person.”

Melanie linked her and Georgie’s arms together and pulled her away as if even being within reaching distance of Jon was a danger. “You all already know me. And we all already know Jon, obviously. That just leaves Jon’s boyfriend.”

“Partner,” Jon insisted again.

“Ah, well,” Martin laughed uncomfortably. “I’m Martin, and it’s nice to meet you all! I’m-yes, I’m Jon’s boyfr- partner, but we, uh, yes, we also do work together. If that wasn’t apparent. Funny story! It’s how we met actually, and-“

“Martin,” Jon hissed, nudging his shoulder.

“Right, another time. Anyway, Jon and I are both pretty tired, so I think we’ll save prolonged introductions for the morning if that’s alright.”

“Perfectly fine,” Daisy confirmed. “Come on, I’ll show you where you two are staying.”

Georgie gave Jon one last side hug and leaned in to whisper, “We have so much catching up to do! Also, don’t worry about Melanie. I’ll talk to her.”

“Wonderful,” Jon muttered and dropped Martin’s hand to grab his own bags, ignoring the feeling of absence that flared up as he did so.

Georgie trotted back over to join Melanie who was already sitting on the bed inside the campervan, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Jon had hoped that their interaction at the institute would be their last. Now, Jon was going to be forced to interact not only with her but also with her and Georgie as a couple. How the hell did Basira even know the two of them?

“Jon, come on,” Daisy’s voice called from the front porch. Martin was standing next to her, gesturing for him to hurry up.

“At least they weren’t murderers,” Martin whispered, grinning and knocking his shoulder into Jon’s as caught up to them. 

Inside, the cottage was an idyllic image of domestic bliss. Jon took in the cozy setting, the fresh vase of flowers, the warm lamp lighting, the framed, botanical illustrations on the wall, and the worn, overstuffed furniture. Then his eyes landed on the pullout couch made up into a bed

“Sorry about the lack of privacy,” Daisy said. “We can tack up some bed sheets if you want, but the bathroom’s right over there if you’re feeling shy about changing. Basira and I won’t be downstairs till morning if you two want to-“

“Not necessary, Daisy. Thank you,” Jon interrupted at a louder volume than was really necessary. He could feel his face growing hot just from her suggestion and was far too petrified to look for Martin’s reaction.

Daisy smirked and folded her arms. “Right, sure. If you need anything just let me know. I’ll be right upstairs.”

Daisy disappeared up the stairs, that amused look still plastered on her face. Of every contingency Jon had planned for, sharing a bed was not one. It absolutely should have been, he realized now, but it had unfortunately slipped his mind. A far more pressing concern in his mind had been orchestrating a convincing lie rather than considering what would be involved in actually going through with it. He stood there, unmoving and staring at the bed as if standing still enough would wake him from this nightmare. 

“I’ll sleep in the car,” he said, snapping suddenly to reality and turning to face Martin.

Just as quickly, Martin shot forward and held him by the arm. “No, Jon, wait. Don’t be stupid. We’ll share it. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he whispered. “You’ll have your side and I’ll have mine. Not a big deal. Now, I’m going to go to the bathroom to get changed and brush my teeth, and we’re going to act like all of this is entirely normal.”

Martin released his arm, got his toothbrush and pajamas from his duffel and retreated to the bathroom. Jon waited until the door was closed to collapse onto the bed and press his face into his hands. Ridiculous. This was all so overwhelmingly ridiculous. Idiotically, enormously ridiculous. 

His mind was like a broken record, replaying all of the complications of the last 20 minutes. Why on earth had he thought this was a good idea? What was he doing here? How did Basira even know Georgie? Or maybe it was Melanie she knew? Why did it have to be them? Why did it have to be both of them? 

Jon shook himself from dwelling on his thoughts long enough to change into his pajamas and check his phone. The signal out here was nearly nonexistent. Regardless, there were still plenty of things that had come through during the drive. There were the typical push notifications he meant to turn off but never got around to, a handful of emails, and an event reminder for this weekend. Right, because he needed yet another reminder that this was happening. 

After deleting notifications and drafting some emails he found an unpleasant surprise in the form of a text from Tim. Tim only ever texted him things that he knew would antagonize Jon. He groaned and half considered not even opening it, but his curiosity, as always, was far more belligerent than any sense of self preservation.

There was a video of him in the car, one that Martin must have taken. Jon recognized the song as the upbeat one that he had been tapping his fingers along to. However, he must have subconsciously picked up the lyrics because there, on the screen, he was murmuring along to the tune, his voice clearer more impassioned as the chorus came around. The camera trembled both from the uneven road and from Martin’s audible, stifled laughter. Laughter at Jon’s expense.

The body of the text message read only “Karaoke next office party, boss?” 

Great.

Martin emerged from the bathroom in his pajamas. His phone was gripped in his hands and he had a peculiar expression on his face. He was strenuously trying to appear normal and unaffected. Jone wrote it off. Whatever that was about was the last of his priorities currently. On the other hand, he didn’t care if Martin noticed his distress. In fact, he flung an arm across his face in order to emphasize it.

“’Something the matter,” Martin asked with a forced casualness, sitting down on his side of the bed. He was hunched over his phone and had angled himself specifically so that Jon couldn’t see the screen from his vantage point.

“What isn’t the matter?”

“You’re being dramatic again,” he teased.

“I think I’ve earned a bit of drama. Don’t you?”

“If you say so.”

Jon suddenly remembered one of the many things that had caught him off guard during everyone’s introductions. He paused a moment in his grumbling to ask, “Have I actually mentioned Georgie around you before?”

“Nope! I guess Tim’s acting tips must have come in handy after all.” Martin looked over his shoulder and smiled. Jon chuckled despite himself. “Might wanna tell me a bit about her, though, in case she asks what I’ve heard.”

Jon groaned again and got up to brush his own teeth. “Fine. Later. In the morning.” Martin rolled his eyes and lounged back on the bed. Whatever had him acting strangely before had obviously blown over.

When he had finished brushing his teeth, he came back to a mostly dark room. Martin had already turned off the lights save for a dim lamp on an end table next to the bed. He was sitting up against and scribbling something into a small notebook. Jon got into bed as well, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling as his worries came rushing back.

So much of what just happened made his head spin, but the thought now most prevalent was that Martin had held his hand. No matter how he tried to keep it at bay, the image of it kept bubbling to the forefront of his mind. They had talked about this, but Martin had done it so easily, so naturally. He had tucked his hand into Jon’s like it was nothing. He had squeezed Jon’s hand and brought him back to the present moment as if he had done it a thousand times before. It felt so normal.

It felt right. 

There had been only one time he’d held hands with someone in between his breakup with Georgie and then just now with Martin. He’d been out on a date with a nice enough young woman. He couldn’t even remember her name anymore. The two of them had been out to a movie and went to dinner after. He thought they were merely enjoying their meals in a mutual, comfortable silence until she had reached over the table and held both of his hands in hers.

She gave him a strange, thoughtful look as he flinched and then settled in her firm grasp. “I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for.”

“How do you mean,” he asked warily, feeling his hands twitch beneath hers.

“I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something in your way. Did you just get out of a big relationship or something?”

“Two or three years ago.”

“Do you still love them?”

“Not particularly,” he had said after some consideration. “We still talk sometimes, but I can’t say I still have feelings for her.” 

She looked puzzled, almost as if he had answered her in riddle. He wanted to flee, but her hands were still firmly wrapped around his, anchoring him to the table.

“What about this-What are you looking for in a partner?”

He paused, trying genuinely to provide her with an answer. “I-I’m not sure. Someone compatible, I suppose.”

“And what do you consider compatible?”

“I’m not sure why we’re having this discussion.”

“There’s no need to get upset, Jon,” she had said with a smile meant to temper his agitation. “I’m just saying it’s our fourth date and this is the first time we’ve even touched one another. Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t think it’s me. And I don’t think you even know what you’re looking for.”

Jon could remember thinking about her words then. In the months preceding this dinner, he’d been on a number of dates where things had quickly fizzled. Typically, they would decline to reach out after a first date. Sometimes he would make it to a second date but rarely a third.

He assumed that making it to four dates with this woman meant things were going well. She would propose an idea for an outing and he would agree. They would walk in the park or go to the museum and part ways at the end. Nothing more, nothing less. He liked it that way, but now he wasn’t sure if he even liked her as anything more than an acquaintance.

“Suppose I don’t. Sorry to waste your time.”

“Whatever it is,” she replied softly, pulling back her hands. “I hope you find it.”

After breaking up with Georgie, he’d really only sought out relationships out of a sense of obligation. After the few months of attempts that led to that conversation, he’d lost all desire for one entirely. When he found his job at the institute a few months later, he poured himself into work and forgot all about his last date.

As the memory simmered to the surface, he started questioning other aspects of his past.

He and Georgie were part of a friend group in school and gradually grew into close friends. Jon had never even considered a romantic pursuit with her until she asked one day if he’d like to go out. It felt like common sense. They were close. She liked him. Why not? When they got together, he figured out he wasn’t really the type for physical intimacy, and she respected that. They were comfortable together. After graduating, they had two very different outlooks on life and parted ways. That was that.

Being reminded of his date’s questions in combination with seeing Georgie in person made him question everything he’d had with her. Georgie was the only real relationship he’d ever had. He loved her. That was no question. He had loved her, but had he felt anything more for her as his girlfriend than he had as a friend? None of this had ever mattered before, but now it seemed like the only thing that mattered.

Jon was yet again asking himself why he’d thought it best to invite Martin. They were friends now, sure, but he and Sasha were, as well. He knew that Martin would tell the other two anyway, so what difference would it have made if he invited Sasha? What he didn’t know was how his heart would leap when Martin held his hand, how a fondness would bloom in his chest from the feeling, how the separation felt like loss, how his pulse would still be hammering as he was lying awake thinking of all this.

Martin’s pen paused in its scribbling for a moment and created a silence loud enough to drag Jon from his thinking. It felt like something was about to happen, like Martin would say something. The moment stretched on. He said nothing. Neither did Jon.

Then, like a branch in the tree of fate being pruned, Martin rolled over and clicked off the lamp. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”


	3. Chapter 3

Martin woke up to the sight of Jon’s face mere inches from his own. Immediately startled from his bleariness, he did his best to steady both his breathing and his heartbeat. Jon was fast asleep still, curled up on his side and facing Martin. Carefully, so as not to cause any disturbance, Martin rolled over and did his best to fall back asleep. The sun was just beginning to rise. Fake relationship or not, this was supposed to be a relaxing weekend away and there was no way he was waking up at dawn without a fight.

Upon ultimate failure, he got up and meandered to the kitchen where he managed to get a kettle boiling, all without stirring Jon. Not knowing when he would wake, Martin made him up a mug and set it on the end table. He grabbed his notebook and padded out to the back patio.

Unable to muster neither the inspiration nor courage to jot anything down in the car, Martin hadn’t written much poetry yesterday. There was a bit of verse he penned down just before sleeping, but it didn’t catch him this morning the way it had the night before. He flipped through the other bits and pieces he had written recently, making notes, changing words, and circling promising parts. The past few days had left him feeling rather scattered, and his poetry reflected that. It would take some rather significant editing to develop it into something he felt any satisfaction with.

Coming to a break between pages, he looked up at the sunrise. Martin was not typically an early enough riser to admire this time of day. He was awake, sure, but was typically more preoccupied with getting ready for work. There were important things to be done that early like starting the coffee pot and showering. Watching the sunrise was some overblown nonsense that those yoga granola people bragged about to stroke their egos. He still thought that for the most part.

Sitting here with the time and peace to savor it, however, gave him a greater understanding of the appeal. Transfixed, Martin watched the reddish golden bands of light marbling the horizon, the beautiful tension of the night’s last breath giving way to day, the bright, unstoppable heartbeat of the solar system cresting over the edge of the world. Martin knew himself to be an anxious, frantic person, but this moment gave him pause. He was filled with a deep sense of gratitude and found his thought’s drifting to Jon.

The moment was severed by the sound of the backdoor opening. Martin twisted around to see Basira approaching with her own cup of tea. Collapsing into the chair next to him with a deep sigh, she turned a sleepy smile in his direction and then for a long, silent interlude looked out at the horizon with him. She had a hoodie cinched tightly around her face in place of her typical hijab. He had only ever seen her in professional clothes before, and this new glimpse into her everyday life put a smile on his face.

“So, you and Jon, huh,” she prompted.

“Mhm.”

She set her mug down on the table between them and folded her hands across her stomach. “He mentioned he had a partner, but he never said it was you. Then again, he never mentioned much about you at all.”

“He’s pretty private,” Martin replied, ignoring the sting of that comment in favor of looking over something he’d written back when he agreed to come on the trip. It had an embarrassing amount of doodled hearts. “Not really one to chatter on about his own relationships.”

“Small world,” she pivoted. “With this whole Georgie-Melanie-Jon thing?”

“Took me completely by surprise. I’m sure it did for all of us.”

“You think they’ll get along?”

“Jon never talked about her much, but it seems like they’re fine. Melanie’s who I’m worried about. You should’ve seen her when she came to give a statement the first time.”

“Don’t need to,” Basira said, a grim tone to her voice. “We’re only friends because I bumped into her and Georgie so many times on trespassing calls. It’s not like she frightens me, but that girl knows how to put up a good fight.”

“Hold on,” Martin paused. “You’re friends _because_ of the trespassing calls?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. After the first time Melanie went berserk on me, Georgie gave me their card. She was trying to convince me Melanie wasn’t just some ghost hunting maniac. Had me look up their show. As a sectioned officer, it’s actually pretty relieving to see people talk about the things you’ve seen and not treat it like nonsense. I mean, their videos are fun and all but they still treat it like its real.

“Now whenever I hear about two women poking around some spooky place they shouldn’t be, I volunteer to take the call and I remind ‘em to be a little more discreet. You show up often enough you get to be on a first name basis and then all of a sudden you’re friends with the petty criminals you’re supposed to apprehend.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

There was a knock behind them and they turned to see Daisy standing in the doorway. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll go get changed and we can get started.” Basira turned to Martin, raised her cup in a “cheers” motion and traipsed inside.

Martin rose from his chair. “Can I help with anything?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Daisy said. “You’re my guest. I’ll take care of breakfast. Wouldn’t mind you getting Georgie and Melanie, though.”

Martin nodded and followed her inside. He meant to grab his phone and continue on his way, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of Jon. He had been so preoccupied with not waking him up earlier that his mind had been unable to focus on the sight before it.

Jon’s face was always tense and focused Even in those joyful moments of laughter yesterday there had seemed some reservation to his presence. His mind was always elsewhere. Now it was just him. Soft and vulnerable and open. The deep lines of consternation ever present on his face were nowhere to be seen and his lips were just barely parted. He was curled in on himself, the edge of Martin’s pillowcase balled up in his closed hand.

Martin couldn’t help but stare at the way his dark, silver streaked hair lay in a halo on his pillow. Ever since the attack on the incident, Jon had been letting his hair grow out. Privately, Martin had noted how nicely it framed his face. Even the dappled pockmarks on his face from Jane’s burrowing worms earned Martin’s admiration. The attack was the first time he felt Jon might actually, really, care about him as more than an employee.

Then the moment shattered as Jon shifted in bed. The fear of being caught staring so openly-so longingly-set Martin back on his mission of retrieving the others.

He knocked lightly on the sliding door of the camper van. “Melanie? Georgie? We’re getting-”

“What,” Melanie snapped, throwing the door open. She squinted and her hair poked out wildly at all angles. Georgie was still horizontal on the bed behind her but was stretching and groaning through the inconvenience of being woken up suddenly.

“I was about to say we’re getting breakfast ready?”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Melanie, don’t be rude,” Georgie chastised, sitting up and setting her hand on Melanie’s shoulder placatingly. “We’ll be up in a bit.”

Melanie threw the door shut in Martin’s face. He blinked for a moment to regain his composure. When he finally turned back towards the cottage, he was surprised to see Jon standing in the doorway staring out at him. Even from here he could see Jon’s hands wrapped around the mug he’d left for him. Impulsively, Martin gave a small wave. He chastised himself for the silly gesture, but then Jon gave a small wave back. And smiled. And kept smiling as Martin walked back up to the cottage.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning, yourself,” Martin replied. “You seem in better spirits this morning.”

A moment of surprise caught Jon’s features, and he immediately lowered his gaze. In an instant his body language changed from open and casual to collected and proper. Martin chastised himself again.

“I suppose I’m feeling optimistic,” Jon mumbled. “Holiday and all.”

“Good to hear it.”

They came into the cottage to find Daisy and Basira finishing up the eggs and pancakes that would compose their breakfast. In the time that Martin had taken to go down to the campervan, Jon, Basira and Daisy had somehow all had enough time to get dressed.

Martin couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at how remarkably unremarkable Jon’s outfit choice was. He wore his typical sweater over a button down, slacks, and oxfords. It seemed that Jon’s idea of casual was identical to his office attire, lacking only the tweed blazer. Martin was entirely charmed by it. Then again, Jon could probably show up a bedraggled mess and he would still find it charming. Thinking this to himself, Martin unzipped his duffel and grabbed the day’s clothing before going to the bathroom to change.

Jon was crouched next to the pullout couch when he came back out of the bathroom. “Martin give me a hand folding this back up would you?”

“We’ve only got four chairs at the table,” Daisy called from the kitchen. “Hope the two of you don’t mind sitting on the couch!”

“Not a problem, Daisy,” Martin replied, joining Jon. “Have you ever messed with one of these before?”

“No. Have you?”

“Nope.” Martin smirked, but Jon maintained a grave expression.

Jon hesitated, grabbing at one of the support bars and pulling on it. “Do we…do we fold these first?”

“I don’t think so? I think we fold it in half first.”

“This bar thing?”

“No, not the bar,” Martin laughed. “The mattress part!”

“Oh. Right.” Together they managed to fold the mattress in half. “So now we fold this part in half again…or?”

“I don’t think it’ll fold in half again.”

Jon frowned pensively. “But it won’t fit inside the couch like this.”

“Uh,” Martin looked up to see Basira and Daisy staring at them, snickering to each other. “Any hints?”

“Take that end part there,” Basira said, gesturing to the end of the mattress. “Lift it up and kinda push it back towards the couch and then down into it.”

When Martin looked back, he saw Jon’s face was flushed and his ears tipped red. Jon who was always cool and collected and above it all was an embarrassed mess. In the past several weeks, Martin had seen Jon at his most paranoid and anxious, but even then he was always in charge. Now, Jon was just as clumsy and uncertain as Martin always felt. Martin would’ve reassured him that all of this teasing was no reason to get anxious or feel embarrassed, but knowing Jon, he would just snap about not needing the condescension.

Sure enough, they followed Basira’s directions and the couch folded back into place. Martin grinned at a job well done and reached out to high five Jon. He was confused for a moment, looking at Martin’s raised hand as if it was entirely foreign, and then returned the gesture. When Martin cheered, Jon’s expression changed from confused to startled to happy in the blink of an eye. He smiled back at Martin and helped to replace the cushions.

Basira came into the living area with a plate piled high with toast. “Adorable. You two certainly make an interesting match.”

Martin could feel Jon’s renewed embarrassment and distracted from it with a simple, pleased, “Thank you. I like to think we complement one another nicely.”

In Martin’s fantasy, he took charge of this moment, wrapping an arm around Jon’s shoulders and tugging him over to where the food was laid out. Jon would be overwhelmed, but Martin would just smile and squeeze his shoulders. Asking Jon to relax was perhaps too far a stone to throw, but maybe he would give a smile back and let out a little huff of breath as he let the tension seep out of him. Jon might even rest his head on Martin’s shoulder for a moment before turning his attention to the breakfast before them.

However, by the time Martin had spun this vision up in his mind’s eye Jon was already sat on the couch and buttering a piece of toast.

Melanie and Georgie came in just as the other four were making their plates. Georgie was dressed and back to her cheerful self, and Melanie was still as groggy and grumpy as when she slammed the door in Martin’s face. She was also still in her pajamas, her hair still a wild mess. The sight made Martin want to laugh, but his conversation with Basira about her temperament left him biting it back.

Things were quiet as they all tucked into their food. Jon had barely taken anything, but he seemed to be enjoying what he had. Despite Melanie’s previous claims, her plate was overflowing. She tore through her first two pancakes and went back for more before she even finished with her eggs.

“Would anyone like some tea,” Martin asked, setting his plate aside and getting to his feet. “Jon can attest! I make a good cup of tea.”

“Is that true, Jon?” Daisy followed up, cheerful as she had been the night before.

“Yes.” Jon lowered his head and chased a piece of scrambled egg around his plate with his fork. He muttered something to himself, seeming annoyed that the attention was yet again on him. When the focus of the conversation failed to shift elsewhere he added “Martin’s very good.”

“Regular wordsmith you’ve got over here, Basira,” Melanie jabbed.

“Would you like some, Melanie?” Martin cut in, trying desperately to function as a shield against her teasing.

Melanie, turned away, suddenly off guard. “Yeah, uh, sure. That’d be fine.”

“I’ll take one, too,” Georgie chirped. “Jon? Are you having any?”

Eventually, Martin was making up tea for the six of them as they settled back into amicable, early morning silence. Basira grumbled something about the lack of cell signal which prompted a knowing look from Daisy. Melanie was waking up gradually, her aggressive discontent dissolving into nonchalance. She even offered up a lukewarm “thank you” as Martin passed around their mugs. He was gaining hope that things would proceed normally, after all.

And then Melanie had another idea.

“So, Jon,” she began with a casual tone. “Hear about any other good dreams lately?”

“Melanie,” Georgie hissed, shooting her a desperate look.

“No, no,” Melanie carried on, still effecting that ambivalent demeanor. “I’d love for Jon to tell all of us about his very serious, very academic institution. Right, Jon?”

“Ms. King, I told you-”

“Ms. King? You hear that Georgie? I’m Ms. King, now.”

Jon straightened his posture and came to his feet. “Ms. King.”

“No. Don’t you try and use that pompous, bullshit respectability whatever attitude with me!”

Georgie shot up from her seat, inserting herself between them. “Melanie!”

“What are you even doing here? Seriously, Basira, why-”

“Melanie.” Daisy stood as well and loomed next to Georgie. “That’s enough.”

“Daisy, I’ve told you how he-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Basira said. “I invited him. He’s my friend. You’re my friend. Now knock it off-both of you-so we can all enjoy our weekend. Ok?”

Melanie grumbled something, sending Jon an acidic glare as she sat back down. Without warning, Jon set his plate aside and left out the back door. Georgie, Basira and Daisy all watched him go and then turned their concern towards Martin.

“I’ll go take care of that,” he sighed.

Martin had expected Jon to have taken off in whatever direction was most convenient, but he hadn’t made it very far at all. Jon was slumped against the brick wall of the cabin, clutching a pack of cigarettes and fumbling for a lighter. He made a very concerted effort to act as if Martin wasn’t there as he lit one and placed it to his lips. Sasha had mentioned to them that Jon said something about wanting to quit. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up, he decided.

“Are you alright,” Martin asked timidly.

Jon held his cigarette in one hand and held the other against his chest like a steel barrier. “Just fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I can manage my emotions just fine on my own thank you,” Jon spat, tossing the butt to the ground and grinding it with his heel.

He continued staring off in the distance as if Martin wasn’t there. This was likely in hopes that Martin would give up and go back inside, but Martin was not the kind to give up on other people.

Instead, Martin reached out and gingerly wrapped a hand around Jon’s wrist. “I’m sorry about what happened in there.”

Jon flinched, just barely, and his eyes darted back and forth between his own hand and Martin’s face. Martin expected him to yank his hand away and sneer some unpleasant comment about him being too sentimental. Surprise nearly overtook him as Jon sighed deeply, relaxed his posture and then intertwined his hand with Martin’s briefly before letting go. He crossed his arms back against his chest, more relaxed this time

“No, you-You don’t need to apologize Martin. _I_ need to apologize-to Melanie. You remember that talk we had when we thought Jane was about to kill us?”

“When you thought she already killed me and asked if I was a-”

He put up a hand to put a stop to Martin’s joking reminiscence. “Not important. You know as well as I do that my skepticism was an act of self-reassurance and I unfairly turned it against Melanie. Her response may have been a bit severe, but-”

“Jon.”

He sighed. “I know.”

Now that the mood had lightened, Martin turned to head back inside. No sense in meandering about out here while the others were left in suspense. His trajectory was halted as Jon planted a hand on his shoulder and turned him back so they were facing one another.

He yanked his hand back as Martin met his nervous gaze. “Wait-I-I don’t think I’ve helped to be very convincing so far. Do you think we should…hold hands? Couples would hold hands, right?”

God, it was barely even 8 and this morning was already one of the most eventful of his life. It made Martin wonder if he really was a ghost and all of this was some afterlife, some limbo purgatory dream meant to torment him. Was Jonathan Sims, his boss Jonathan Sims, “serious academic” Jonathan Sims, actually asking him to hold hands?

“Nevermind. Forget it.”

Martin lunged forward and grabbed Jon’s forearm. “No, wait, Jon. Sorry. I was just-sorry, I was just surprised is all. Here we are after a huge blowup and now we’re going to hold hands. It’s a bit weird.”

Jon smiled with him and they shared a small chuckle at the absurdity of it.

“But you’re right,” Martin continued. “A couple would hold hands.”

With a confidence meant to compensate for his nervousness, Martin took Jon’s hand in his without hesitation. Jon swallowed, took a deep breath and led them back inside.

Ignoring the apprehensive looks of the others as they rejoined the breakfast table, Martin did his best to keep his breathing steady. With all of his blushing, stuttering nervousness so far, Martin was just praying Jon wouldn’t catch on to his very real feelings. Holding hands and being pressed together shoulder to hip on the couch was making it very hard to keep his cool.

Jon cleared his throat, drawing all attention to him. “Melanie.”

“Yes, Jon,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“I doubt this is worth much to you,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “But I’d like to apologize for my conduct at the institute. I was wrong to discredit and dismiss you.”

“You were,” she agreed hesitantly.

“I believe you.”

Her mouth fell open. “You do?”

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

A self-satisfied smile broke across Melanie’s face and she leaned back in her chair. She reached out under the table and nudged at Daisy’s shin with her slipper. “See? I’m right. Not crazy. Stapled her skin back together like some ragdoll.”

Basira snorted and got up to gather their plates.

“The two of you go get changed,” Daisy commanded. “I’ve got something planned for all of us.”

“You didn’t warn me we’d be going on a boat,” Martin whispered frantically as the group trudged towards the dock down the hill from the cabin.

“I didn’t know Daisy had one,” Jon shot back with a tangible anxiety in his voice.

They were holding hands again. Martin was trying his best to not overthink it. He had known this would happen. It was expected and it was normal. Acting weird about _holding hands_ would be the only think to actually make it weird. 

Jon came to a stop and they both watched from a distance as the other four loaded onto the boat. The closer they came, the more tense Jon’s posture had become. Where their hands met, Martin pressed gently. Just as doing so the night before had done, it seemed to draw Jon’s attention back to the moment. He met Martin’s eyes with a look both determined and uncertain.

“What are you two boys mopin’ about, over there,” Daisy called out to them. She was unwinding a length of rope from where the boat had been tethered to the dock. “Better get on quick before we start drifting away.”

Jon’s determination won out, giving Martin a curt nod as if they were marching into battle rather than going on a short tour of the coast.

Martin watched Jon go ahead of him, wobbling and off kilter as he tried to climb down into the boat. The boat shifted so that Jon entirely lost his footing and stumbled forward, the threat of collapsing into Melanie’s lap imminent. However, in a rare stroke of grace, Martin surged forward and grabbed Jon by the shoulders, steadying him just enough to avert any potential injury or awkwardness.

Jon, now safely back on the dock, stepped away and brushed at his shoulders. “Thank you for that, Martin.”

Martin held out his arm to be used as a steadying force. “Here.”

He could see in Jon’s eyes that he was hesitant. Gently at first and then with a strength motivated by the anxiety of another fall, Jon held onto Martin and descended. Watching this, Melanie whispered something to Georgie which was followed by a hushed giggle shared between the two. If Jon noticed, he pretended not to.

As soon as Martin lowered himself into the boat, Jon came to stand by his side, linking their arms together without pause. He gave Martin a questioning look, an opportunity to back out-to deny his touch. In response, Martin only pulled him closer. _Only weird if you make it weird._

The boat was perfectly arranged for a group of their size. With six seats, Melanie and Georgie were seated in the two toward the stern, and Basira and Daisy occupied the cockpit, leaving the final two seats up front for Jon and Martin. Basira was watching, bemused, as Daisy fiddled with the various switches and dials on the helm. She was enthusiastically explaining the purpose of each one to Basira who was obviously absorbing very little. Catching Martin’s eye in the midst of this ramble, she nodded her head toward the two seats at the front. He took her cue and tugged Jon in that direction.

Jon turned in his seat as soon as they were sat down to continue listening to Daisy. He leaned over the windshield to get a better look at the controls she was indicating, rapt in her explanation. _Was John interested in boats? Was that something he’d missed? But if he was, then why was he so anxious earlier?_

As with all interactions he had with Jon, Martin was questioning every microdetail as it happened. On occasion when he couldn’t sleep, Martin would lie awake at night deciphering conversations he’d had with Jon that day. Whether it was a passing comment in the breakroom or a brief meeting to discuss progress on statement follow up, he would spend sleepless hours telling himself that these moments meant both significantly more and significantly less than he thought they did.

Martin was ejected from his deep entrenchment in these thoughts when Jon planted a hand on his shoulder as a means to gain more leverage. There it was again. Distant, prickly, independent Jon reaching out. Jon was touching him with the familiarity of old friends-of actual boyfriends. Martin swallowed around the lump in his throat and willed away the clamminess of his palms.

_This meant everything._  
_This meant nothing._  
_This is only weird if you make it weird._

Daisy started the engine and they began the tour. Nervousness sprung back to Jon and he turned to sit properly in his seat. Martin heaved a sigh of relief that Jon had not taken notice of his minor panic. His crush on Jon was convenient in that way. Jon was too wrapped up in his own contemplation to ever take note of Martin’s rather obvious signs of affection and embarrassment thereof.

As they drifted through the fog, Daisy pointed out various landmarks, weather patterns, and wildlife and then regaled them all with how she had acquired a boat. Apparently, she had wanted one for quite some time but had always been too busy with policework to justify it. After the Jane Prentiss incident, when Basira had told her about her plans to retire, Daisy decided to do the same and bought the boat the following week. In the few months she’d had it, they’d only been up here a few times to actually use it, but Daisy intended on moving up here and getting out far more often. According to Basira’s expression, this idea was still a point of discussion between them.

The windshield separating Martin and Jon from the rest significantly muffled Martin’s ability to hear this chatter. Melanie and Georgie were entirely inaudible, but he was able to listen intently enough to the other two to piece together what was going on. Jon was stone still, save for his fidgeting hands, facing forward and obviously not listening. He was lost in thought. As always.

Martin turned towards him. “Jon? Is something the matter?”

He blinked and shook his head just slightly. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Work,” he answered, a touch too quickly to be convincing and sounding slightly irritated. Martin decided the truth of the matter wasn’t worth investigating.

“Come on,” Martin said, rising to his feet. “Enough about work. Let’s try and enjoy this a little.”

He took a chance and grabbed Jon by his wrist. Jon flinched at the sudden contact, his eyes wide with renewed uncertainty, but ultimately allowed himself to be uprooted. Relieved that he hadn’t been met with outright refusal, Martin pulled them to the very front of the boat.

The weather was clearing just slightly, and he leaned out over the edge of the boat to gaze at the sunlight dancing on the water’s surface. Jon, who had been gripping the handrail in terror up until this moment, let out a yelp, grabbed a fistful of Martin’s sweatshirt and yanked him back. They were suddenly in very close proximity to one another. Martin instinctively stepped away as much as Jon’s hold would allow.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon blinked, clenching and unclenching his hand as he let go. “I didn’t want you to fall in. It’s dangerous.”

“Watch out up there,” Daisy shouted before Martin could respond. “We’re gonna see how fast this thing can actually go!”

The roar of the engine grew louder. Jon promptly turned back towards his seat, but Martin grabbed the sleeve of his sweater and held him in place. “Just hang on a minute. If it gets too bad, we’ll sit down.”

Eyes wide with fear, Jon glanced between his seat and the handrail. Martin gave him the same sure nod he’d received at the start of the strip. In response, Jon closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and tightened his grip on the railing as the boat gained speed beneath them.

“We’re going to hit a wave,” he said with stiff terror. “And we’re going to fall in. And drown.”

Martin, ignoring Jon’s pessimism, let out a whoop of joy. With the wind whipping through his hair, he threw a hand in the air, catching the wind between his fingers. Another panicked cry escaped Jon and he snatched Martin’s hand out of the air, slamming it back onto the handrail.

“Are you crazy?” he shouted.

Martin threw his head back and grinned. “Just having a bit of fun!”

It almost seemed like Jon was about to smile with him and relax a bit, and then turbulence hit. Despite his death grip on the railing, Jon was thrown by the sudden motion of the boat. Martin receiving the brunt of his weight. Shaking, he released one hand from the rail, hoping to retreat to his seat. Another wave thrashed against the boat in the opposite direction, and Jon immediately clamped his hand back onto the railing.

Being thrown about like this, Martin knew Jon trying to get back to his seat would be unsuccessful and from Daisy’s exuberant shouting, he could tell the speed wasn’t about to let up either. His feet were planted far more firmly on the deck and he wasn’t being jostled nearly as much as Jon. Flooded with some strange, unfamiliar confidence, Martin wrapped an arm around Jon’s waist and pulled him in close.

“What the hell are you doing,” Jon yelled frantically.

“Just hang on!”

Jon maintained his grip on the railing far too anxious to continue arguing. Martin tightened his own handhold on both the boat and Jon and braced himself as they hit another rough patch, surging out of the water. Instead of having his shoulder nearly dislocated for a third time, Jon was held steady against Martin’s side. Martin couldn’t help but feel an immense smug satisfaction as Jon blinked open his eyes, previously sealed shut in terror, and looked up at him with a bewildered expression.

Martin fought off a blush at the sight of Jon, pressed against his side, now smiling up at him with gratitude and joy.

Daisy cut the engines soon after. Peeking over his shoulder, Martin could see Melanie and Georgie, their arms wrapped around one another and shaking with unrestrained laughter. Basira was looking at Daisy in a way that communicated how annoyed she might feel if she weren’t entirely in love. Daisy was lit up with pure thrill and leaned over to kiss Basira without hesitation. Taking all this in made Martin smile but only served to remind him of his and Jon’s own false pretenses.

As the boat slowed, he shifted to remove his arm from around Jon’s waist, anticipating that he would be eager to restore a respectable distance between them. To his surprise, Jon only leaned further against him and wound his own arm around Martin.

Martin was most taken aback at how natural this embrace was. Neither of them was blushing or stuttering or rationalizing. Well, with Jon having turned away to look out at the horizon, he couldn’t quite see his face well enough to know if he was blushing, but his now relaxed stature and even breathing made Martin confident in his guess.

Momentarily, he entertained the fantasy of what a life filled with moments like this could be like. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of coming up next to Jon in a cozy kitchen late at night, pulling him close as they waited on a kettle to boil or an oven to preheat. He thought of Jon rolling his eyes as Martin bent to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. Jon would twist their hands together and Martin would lift them to place a kiss to each of his scars.

Martin dashed the thought, reminding himself that the life he wanted was one unmeant to be. He brought himself back to the present moment.

Entwined in one another’s embrace, they looked out at the ocean around them. Jon pointed out a deer grazing near the shore and they both let out a small, excited gasp as its fawn came up to join it. Martin noticed a cloud above them that looked like an elephant. Jon disputed the likeness until Martin carefully delineated its vapor anatomy, pressing their temples together in order to make their perspectives as similar as possible.

Moving to separate their heads, Martin felt yet another shock as Jon’s hand came up to cradle his jaw. Suddenly, their faces were mere inches apart. If Martin shifted, even slightly, they would be touching. Before he could deliberate on that idea, Jon decided to close the gap himself, tilting his chin so that their noses were brushing.

He was staring at Martin with an intensity he’d never seen in Jon before. His face was growing more and more red with each passing second, seconds that dragged on like centuries. Martin kept moving his mouth, trying impossibly to form words capable of diffusing the situation. There were none.

Jon smiled, so soft and so sweet and then his eyes flickered to Martin’s mouth so briefly that he would later convince himself that it couldn’t have been real. He struggled to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. All of this was for show, after all. Jon was doing all of this just to prove to the other four how real their relationship was. This was all just a bit of convincing theatrics.

_This is only weird if you make it weird._

Then, where Jon’s hand rested against Martin’s face, it tensed. Jon was pulling Martin in. Jon’s lips were parted just barely. Jon’s eyes were sliding closed.

It wasn’t until the exact moment their lips met that Martin realized his imagination wasn’t getting the better of him. This was reality. This moment where he and Jon were connected through a kiss (A kiss!) was all real. This moment that was surreal and exhilarating and confusing and spectacular and terrible and wonderful all at once. A moment that Martin had been imagining practically from the moment he met Jon.

And then he couldn’t take it anymore. His heart was beating too fast. This was all too much. Too painful.

He pulled away.

_This meant everything._  
_No, this meant nothing._

Desperate for diversion, Martin turned towards the suspicious quiet behind them. Putting distance enough between him and Jon to turn his head, he could see the four of them staring. In the same way she had at the start of the trip, Melanie turned to Georgie and whispered something to her, triggering a round of laughter from all of them.

Jon’s expression was tense. Noticing that the laughter was at his expense, his demeanor changed entirely. He extracted himself from Martin, folded his arms tightly in front of him, and sat down, staring ahead and scowling.

Martin sat down next to him, too mired in his own catastrophizing to attempt to engage him in any kind of conversation or de-escalation. Where Jon’s posture was rigid and statuesque, Martin’s was slumped and deflated. He had humiliated him. Jon had been trying to make this fake relationship more convincing, and Martin had ruined it. All of this was one big joke, and he couldn’t help but feel that he was the punchline.

They had talked about this. Jon had specifically said there _wouldn’t_ be kissing. Why would Jon kiss him? And then…what if Jon hadn’t been the one to kiss him? What if Martin was the one that kissed Jon? What if he had just assumed that’s what Jon wanted when he pulled their faces in closer? Oh god, was that why Jon got upset? Had he just monumentally fucked up everything between them?

Arriving back at the dock shortly thereafter, Jon checked his phone and took off towards the cottage.

“Jon?” Basira called after him, pausing in her assistance with tying up the boat.

“I’ve just got an email from Elias,” he explained curtly, not looking back. “Going into the village for better signal.”

“It’s supposed to be holiday, Jon,” Daisy protested.

He waved his hand in some unintelligible gesture and disappeared over the hill between them and the cottage. Martin clasped his hands together, absentmindedly picking at his cuticles as Jon disappeared and Daisy tied up the boat.

A strangled silence fell over the group. Melanie’s confidence faded to guilt over whatever joke she had told ruining the moment. Martin had none of his usual interest in reassuring her that everything was fine. He knew at heart that none of the strange, overwhelming events that had comprised the last half hour were really anyone’s fault, but for now he just wanted to dwell.

“Martin?”

Georgie’s voice cut through the fog. Looking up from where his gaze had settled on a patch of scrub grass, he saw everyone else staring back at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I wasn’t, uh…I wasn’t paying attention. Would you repeat that?

“I just asked if anyone wanted to play a game of cards? Just learned this new one I wanna try out.”

“Oh, I don’t know about-”

“I would,” Daisy huffed, tying the final knot in her mooring. “But I think I’m also going to run into the village and get things for dinner if that’s alright. Maybe tomorrow we’ll all go to that pub and grab a bite to eat. Are you coming Basira?”

Martin noticed a knowing look pass between the two. He had no idea what knowledge they were communicating to each other. He found it hard to care.

“Nah, think I’ll stay behind. Cards sounds relaxing, and you get the shopping done quicker when I’m not around to distract anyway.” On that last remark she gave Daisy a wink, earning a soft chuckle. “Come on, Martin. You can bear witness to my shuffling tricks.”

Before he could deny the offer again, Georgie looped an arm around Martin's shoulders and let out an excited exclamation. Basira was ahead of them, already nearly to the cabin as he was dragged along. Melanie rolled her eyes, but there was no venom to it. She came up on the other side of Martin and rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic glance. Somehow it functioned better than an apology would have.

Martin was surprised to see Basira follow through on her shuffling promise. With half of the cards between thumb and index finger and the other half between index and her remaining three fingers, Basira shuffled the cards together effortlessly. Melanie took the cards from her, insisting that the trick wasn’t that impressive. In her attempt, the cards slipped from between her fingers and then scattered over the table and floor.

“Not that hard?”

“Come off it Basira,” Melanie spat, scowling around her laughter.

Martin bent to help Basira and Georgie pick up what had fallen to the floor. Meanwhile, Melanie assembled the cards that had fallen onto the table and attempted the trick again without success.

“So,” Basira said with the same tone as someone defusing a bomb, dealing cards. “What was all that on the boat about?”

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” Martin replied abruptly.

“For starters, Jon getting all weird and storming off after we got back. And you can’t say that wasn’t weird.”

Melanie and Georgie nodded.

“He’s just not used to…teasing, I guess,” Martin replied, refusing to look away from his cards.

Georgie kept on nodding. “Yeah, he always did take himself a little too seriously.”

“I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad,” Melanie interjected. “He was just being so melodramatic about the waves.”

Georgie elbowed her and leaned over to Martin. “We’ll tone it down, Martin. Seems like he’s under some pressure and I’m sure _our commentary_ isn’t helping.”

“Ok, but that doesn’t explain all the weird business with that kiss,” Basira pressed.

“What needs to be explained?”

“I mean, the most affection I see from you two is some handholding last night. Jon acts all weird about holding onto your arm to even get in the boat and then all of a sudden you two are all wrapped up in one another. I look away for one second and then you’re making out.”

“We were not!”

“Whatever,” Basira dismissed. “So, you do that big romantic kiss. Melanie cracks her joke. You two get all depressed and Jon runs off to the village.”

This was no interrogation room, but Basira was certainly grilling him like it was. Why did Jon think it was a good idea to lie to a detective? Why did Martin fool himself into thinking they could get away with it? Martin noted to himself that this may have been the stupidest thing he’d ever agreed to, and that was saying something considering the idiocy Tim had roped him into before.

“Jon’s just-Jon’s shy about intimacy,” he explained rigidly, eyes fixed to the three of hearts in his hand. “No PDA and all that. He’s always said, uh, always been paranoid about bumping into someone from work while we’re out. Doesn’t want anyone finding out and all that. Guess we just got…caught up in the moment and he felt embarrassed.”

“Yeah, but we’re not from work,” Melanie pointed out.

“He’s just usually really private about this stuff, ok?”

Basira extended a hand and placed it comfortingly on Martin’s forearm. “It’s alright, Martin. I get it. Jon’s barely even talked about you before. Doesn’t surprise me that having to be a couple in front of people is making him agitated.”

Georgie nodded. “Jon would barely even hold my hand on dates. It was a total shock when just kissed you like that with all of us there. Guess he’s changed more than I thought. ”

“Can we stop talking about the kiss, please,” Martin begged, feeling his blush extend past the collar of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah, we’ll shut up about it,” Basira relented. She shuffled the remaining cards one last time and set the remainder of the deck in the middle of the table. She placed down a card. “What I wanna know is how long you two have been together. I’ve visited the institute dozens of times and it completely slipped my notice. And I’m a detective.”

“Five months.” Martin brightened. Finally, something he was prepared for. “It’s weird. Before everything with Jane Prentiss, Jon could barely stand to be around me. Then I got stuck in my apartment and I was living in the archives for a while and then she attacked the institute and we were locked in a room together thinking we were about to die. Nothing like that to bring two people together.”

“Excuse me, what,” Georgie asked, her eyes wide. She excitedly played her card and turned to Martin. “Who’s Jane Presley?”

“Prentiss,” Basira corrected. “Creepy worm lady, but you didn’t hear it from me. That’s how I met Jon. I was investigating the case and some other thing I’m not supposed to talk about.”

“Oh, come on,” Georgie protested. “Creepy worm lady attacks a supernatural institute? You know how good this material would be for our podcast?” She took Melanie’s hand in hers as if to demonstrate.

“Not to mention the show,” Melanie added. “Do you have any pictures?”

“No way am I giving you two anything the press hasn’t seen yet,” Basira laughed. “Won’t get the chance to retire if I’m fired for leaking protected information.”

“Martin, you can’t get fired for telling us, can you,” Georgie pleaded.

“Actually, I can.”

Georgie collapsed against Martin’s shoulder and let out a theatrical groan, causing him the first real laugh he’d had since that disaster of a kiss. Shortly all thoughts of interpersonal disaster had faded and were replaced with the easy, carefree happiness of time spent with new friends. Melanie remaining vigilant over points and winning streaks as they chatted and got to each other better.

Occasionally, Basira would steer the topic of conversation back towards Martin and Jon. They were normal enough questions on the surface, but there was a suspicious edge to her voice. Martin hoped the nervous fidgeting and lack of eye contact during his answers would be interpreted as shyness rather than anxious guilt.

Georgie, meanwhile, was very intent on comparing “his” Jon and “her” Jon. Answers for how Jon actually _acted_ in a relationship required a bit more creative interpretation on Martin’s part but sourced his answers from how Jon acted as a friend. She wasn’t surprised that he buried himself in work and avoided spending time with people. Apparently when he was younger, Jon would do the same, sometimes disappearing for days at a time. Sometimes he would come back with 30-page research papers about topics not even covered in his courses. Sometimes he would have six new songs written for their band. Jon was in a band. That was information to file away for later. As Georgie listened to Martin talk about Jon’s current work ethic, she remarked that he must not have changed too much.

It came time for Basira’s turn in the game they were playing, and she silently placed a card, winning the game.

“Alright, time to get dinner ready,” she said casually.

She got up from where they were sat on the floor around the coffee table with an aloof smugness as Melanie sifted through her hand and then splayed out the discard pile. She looked back and forth between Basira and the game, denying Basira’s ability to have won the third round in a row. Unable to stomach her defeat, she picked up the scratch sheet she had been keeping score on and ripped it in half, tossing it in the air with a dramatic flourish. Georgie, laughing, leaned over to a now prone Melanie and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured, patting Melanie’s head much to her disgruntlement. “Someday we’ll find a game you can beat Basira at.”

Georgie got up then and excused herself to the bathroom. Melanie pulled herself back into a sitting position and Martin watched as she craned her neck around, checking that Basira was still around the corner in the kitchen.

“So just tell me, Martin,” she confronted quietly, angling towards him. “Why Jon?”

“Excuse me?”

She fixed him with a determined stare. “Why are you dating Jon?”

“Well, I, uh, I-I’ve liked him for a while and I know this doesn’t mean much to you but the whole Jane Prentiss thing really brought us together, like I said, and I always thought he was kind of handsome. I mean-I mean, I still do! Of course I think my boyfriend’s handsome and-”

“No, Martin, like-” She pinched the bridge of her nose and trailed off a bit as she recollected her thoughts. “When I came to the institute, you were the nicest person I ever met. I was all shaken up and agitated and you still sat with me and made me tea and helped me calm down a little while we waited for Jon to be done with whatever tape recorder nonsense he was doing. I don’t think I said so at the time, but I really appreciated it.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, pride peeking through his apprehension.

“Whatever. What I mean is, you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met and Jon is, well, Jon. I guess I don’t, like, _hate_ him the way I thought I did, but he’s still kind of a prick.”

“Ok?”

“The way you talk about him,” she continued. “Things sound really one sided.”

“That’s not it. He just has his own way of-”

“No,” she interrupted, spurred on by the sound of the running faucet in the bathroom. “I don’t want to invent problems for you, but if Jon’s running off and ignoring problems and not talking to you, you should find someone who treats you better. Martin, you deserve someone who cares about you just as much as you care about everyone else.”

He barely had time to process her advice, let alone respond, when Georgie came out of the bathroom. Melanie gave him one last stern nod and then got up to join her. Georgie by all appearances was oblivious to the conversation that had happened in her absence.

“Martin, come look! I was looking through my pictures and found some from when Jon had to take an art class for a graduation requirement.”

Martin stood on the other side of Georgie, and the three of them laughed as she flipped through endless pictures of charmingly mediocre art projects. She regaled them with stories of Jon smeared in charcoal, crumpling drafts he found unsatisfactory and ranting about the pointlessness of still-life drawing. All the while, Melanie's words rang in his head.

_You deserve someone who cares about you just as much as you care about everyone else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ariana we're really in it now
> 
> whats going on with jon? why is he actin so funky? who knows
> 
> no joke, i've been editing and editing and re-writing this chapter for like two weeks so I could get it just right and im so glad with how it's turned out! also, thank you all so much for the very kind comments! ive read every single one and i love all of them, i just struggle to reply sometimes, and as always I love feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're getting into sad boy hours territory. Sorry about that! This chapter has a lot of Jon internalizing his anxiety and self doubt, but I promise there's a light at the end of this tunnel

“Jon! There you are!”

Instinctively, Jon flinched at the sound of Daisy calling his name. Having just found a place to sit and hoping for a moment of quiet and clarity, he hadn’t even set down his bag yet. Everything was happening so fast. He just wanted a minute to himself.

“Jon!” She called again, as if saying his name louder would elicit a response from him. Her hand landed heavily on his shoulder as she came up beside him. “I was worried it might take me forever to find you, but here you are!”

“Here I am,” Jon echoed sardonically. He rifled through his messenger bag. His hope was that producing a statement and a tape recorder would communicate quite obviously that he was preparing to work and not open for chatter. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Wouldn’t mind having some help with the shopping.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine on your own. Besides, my boss asked me to get some work finished up and sent off.” He turned to the folder he’d withdrawn from his bag and waited for Daisy to retreat. She did not. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind work.” Daisy said this with her usual sunshine-like demeanor, and then her expression suddenly and dramatically shifted into something darker and more intimidating. She moved her hand from Jon’s shoulder to the back of his chair and leaned in close, pinning him in place like an entomologist’s display. “ _I mind liars._ ”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he stuttered.

“You do.” She moved in closer, not much but enough to make Jon press himself against the back of his chair on instinct. “Basira’s been complaining about the lack of service since we got here, and you suddenly have enough to exchange emails?”

“Must have hit a spot out on the water.”

“Not a chance, Simms,” she said and stood back, satisfied with her intimidation tactic. Her smile reappeared, but Jon could see that dark undercurrent still lurking. “Now, are you coming with me for groceries?”

“I suppose I am.”

Rougher than was strictly necessary, she reached out and patted him on the back. When Jon shot her a spiteful glare, she flashed an even wider grin.

Gathering his things, her eyes never left him. The village’s sole grocery store was just down the block and Daisy shot him watchful glances as they walked towards it, as if in preparation for him to run away and begin screaming for help. Wonderful. Not only was he the laughingstock of everyone’s holiday, now he was receiving the same treatment as a disobedient child.

Daisy waited to pounce until they were tucked between the too close, too cluttered, too tall aisles of food.

She reached up to grab a jar of pasta sauce and chanced an amused look in his direction. “All that romance earlier was cute. Makes me remember how things were when me and Basira first got together.”

“Don’t call us cute,” Jon growled and then caught up to the rest of what Daisy had said. “Who told you our relationship was new?”

“Just a hunch,” she winked. “But now I know for sure. How new?”

“None of your business.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. Just tell me!”

“If you must know, we’ve been together since October. We’re trying to take things slow.”

Daisy turned and walked towards the produce section. “That’s sweet.”

She was trying to aggravate him. He knew it. It reminded him of Tim, always poking and prodding until Jon lost his temper and then laughing in the face of his frustration. Jon took a deep breath and did his best to maintain his poise.

“It’s not ‘sweet.’ Martin and I are grown adults.”

“Still sweet,” she objected with that infuriating, teasing grin on her face. “So what, do you always throw a tantrum immediately after kissing your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t-I wasn’t-HE’S NOT-“

All poise forgotten, Jon’s stammering was about to bubble over into a proper shouting fit. Daisy shot forward, gripped his shoulder and held a finger against her lips in a shushing gesture. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, but she communicated her message well enough. _Shut up._

The ridiculousness of it all was enough for Jon to slam his mouth shut and recollect his thoughts. However, Daisy’s intervention hadn’t prevented the few bystanders from overhearing his wind up. The shoppers within earshot now made a concerted effort to appear as if they hadn’t been staring at him a moment ago. Jon felt his face growing hot.

“Right. Ok. Not sweet, not a tantrum, not your boyfriend. Partner. Whatever.” Daisy continued on as normal, leaving no time for Jon to stew on negativity. “Still wanna know what happened back there.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Make it uncomplicated,” she said flippantly, poking through an arrangement of fresh basil.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Make it simple.”

Jon, for what he suspected was the 40th time this trip, let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, hunching his shoulders again and removing his glasses. There was no human way to make any of this simple.

Daisy bent and contorted herself until they were making eye contact. With his hand affixed to his face, she was at a rather dramatic angle in order to see around it. Her smile was big as ever. It reminded him of his time in research when Tim was always finding some new antic to get into. Even at Jon’s most dour, he always managed to lighten the mood. Jon never allowed himself more than a sequestered smile, but Tim always knew when he’d been won over.

Such reminiscing only reminded him that those times were behind them now. Tim was still as lighthearted and joke-forward as ever, but he restrained himself in Jon’s presence partially because of the altered power dynamic that came from his promotion and also because, well…Jon had sort of accused him of murder.

After finding Gertrude’s body, Jon had scoured the institute for suspects. Who else would have had both motivation enough to kill her and knowledge of the tunnels? Unfortunately, his verve had driven him to turn on his own archival staff, Tim at the epicenter of his suspicion.

Sasha had had the good sense to corner them before their reciprocal anger could reach an irredeemable boiling point. She forced Jon to listen as Tim explained his innocence and frustration towards him. Then, she made Jon apologize for being, as she put it, an insensitive, paranoid bastard. Things were better now, nearly back to normal but not quite. Jon knew his voracious accusations and incessant spying had damaged things between them, but things were as close to normal as they ever would be.

Daisy twisted back to an upright position. “I just want to know what had you so upset.”

Jon considered what he would do if he were having this conversation with Tim. Tim was just as persistent, but Daisy would be better at keeping secrets. She was a police officer. It’s not like she could just go around telling anyone anything she found out about a case.

Jon balled up his fists at his side. “Fine, but you need to promise that you won’t tell anyone else what I’m about to tell you. Not even Martin.”

“Oh, this is going to be good, isn’t it?”

Was he really about to do this? Was he really going to tell a virtual stranger about this insane and regrettable plot he’d concocted? Was he about to tell her how he’d somehow gotten Martin to get involved? Was he about to tell her how this had all become leagues more complicated than he ever predicted?

He steadied himself with a breath. Yes. To all of it.

“Martin and I…are not actually…together.”

She gasped and clasped her hands together at her chin. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“No. And he’s not my partner either.”

It took the entire rest of their grocery trip for Jon to explain to Daisy the events that had led them here. He hadn’t thought it nearly so exhausting a series of events, but Daisy’s inquisitive line of questioning made him reveal just how tangled the situation had become. Each answer he provided seemed to spawn two new questions. He answered each one in the excruciating detail she demanded, too tired both emotionally and physically to combat the hydra of her curiosity.

“So that’s why you’re so upset about that kiss,” she concluded as they finished up at the till, her excitement overflowing. “It’s not that you were kissing your boyfriend. You were kissing your coworker.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait,” she paused. “Why _did_ you kiss him?”

He paused. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

“It just happened,” she echoed, skeptical.

“Impulsively. Unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“We work together, Daisy. Would you want to go back to work on Monday if you impulsively kissed the chief of police? Martin was already feeling uncomfortable around me and then I had to go and kiss him.”

“You _had_ to?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t _have_ to. You know what I mean. It just felt right for the moment.”

“Just felt right.”

“Would you stop that?”

“Fine,” she said and then pivoted to turn on him, mid-exit from the store. “And you’re sure Martin’s uncomfortable?”

He stepped clear of the exit, bringing Daisy with him. “I’m sure. With how he acts around me I can tell I…creep him out.”

She snorted.

“What?”

“I doubt that. He’s the one who got all cuddly.”

“He was just being nice.”

“He did that because _he likes you_ , Jon.”

“Absolutely not. You should’ve seen how mortified he was at the idea of even touching me when we were planning this. He got all squeamish when he asked if he would _have_ to kiss me. I told him no but then I kissed him, anyway. He probably hated it. Probably drafting an email to HR now to let them know I’m some salacious, manipulative boss from hell.”

Daisy gave him a sympathetic pat on the back and muttered something about his vocabulary. She allowed him a minute to let loose a prolonged groan of embarrassment. Once Jon got it out of his system, she grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to look her in the eye.

“Come back to the cabin for dinner,” she directed. “If you’re really sure about Martin’s feelings, pull him aside. Tell him what you told me but sprinkle in an apology. Spend the rest of the weekend holding hands just enough to convince the others and move on with your lives. Tell Basira two weeks from now that you broke up. No harm done.”

“What do you mean, ‘if I’m really sure about Martin’s feelings?’”

“He seems to play the part really well is all,” she said with a smirk. “Now go find your car and come back to the cabin.”

“Martin’s just being nice. He would have done this for anyone.”

“If you say so. Now, come on,” Daisy urged.

“I do say so, and I’m not coming back,” Jon asserted.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to humiliate myself yet again, in front of everyone, and I’m certainly not talking to Martin about any of this.”

“You can’t just _not_ talk about it.”

“I certainly can. What am I meant to tell him?”

Her lighthearted tone became serious again. “Just tell him you weren’t thinking and you’re sorry. You’re the one who invited him, Jon. You can’t just bring him up here and spend the weekend ignoring him. If you want to be friends, you need to be a friend to him. Running off without a word isn’t being a friend. Now, go get in your car and come back to the cabin.”

He considered putting up another protest. Attempting to sit down and have a normal dinner while his head spun, thinking on his innumerable mistakes, was the opposite of how Jon wanted to spend his evening. He could only imagine Martin’s discomfort and the inevitable mocking from the others. Daisy gave him a hint of that steely look from earlier, however, and he instantly thought better of ditching.

“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll go back to the cabin for dinner, but I’m not going to bring it up if Martin doesn’t.”

“Good enough,” Daisy agreed with restored cheer as she got in her car and drove away.

Desiring some way to exert his defiant nature, Jon turned in the opposite direction of his car and decided to look around the shops for a while longer. Going back now would just mean sitting around and waiting for dinner to be ready and an interim like that would only open a new social schism. Better to go back when dinner would be occupying everyone’s focus rather than his own enduring foolishness.

He ducked into a bookstore he and Daisy had passed on their way back to his car. It was the kind of village bookstore that everyone imagines when hearing that phrase. Overstuffed bookshelves, warm lighting, dust floating through the air, organized in a way that looked like clutter to customers but was a perfectly arranged catalogue to its owner. Stickers placed on the shelves to indicate genre were peeling and all had the same rigid typeface of some ancient label maker.

He wound his way through, and eventually found a dimly lit shelf towards the back housing their poetry selection. It was more extensive than he had anticipated, and Jon was immediately reminded of his complete lack of poetic knowledge. Sure, he could tell a Keats from a Dickinson if pressed, but that was the extent. His goal was to find something to function as an apology to Martin, but all of the plain, hardbound spines bled together until Jon felt he was better off just picking at random.

Scanning quickly through the titles to insure he didn’t select something like _Poetry for Kids!_ or _Intimate Poems for Women_ Jon felt a surge of relief on a title too perfect to be true: _Iolaus, An Anthology of Friendship._ He opened it to find a brief foreword explaining that the book was a compilation of various poems about friendship between men. It would be the perfect apology and a clear explanation of Jon’s intent. _See, Martin! I’m just your friend. I’m not trying to seduce you, promise!_

“Excuse me,” Jon said, approaching the clerk at the till, indicating to the black book he had selected. “Do you know if this is any good?”

The older woman took it from him and pulled it close to her face, squinting through her glasses. Upon reading the title her squint melted into a distant smile. She ran her hand across the stamped, gilded laurel above the title and looked up at him from where she sat.

“Is this for you?”

“No, ah, for a friend actually,” he clarified, fidgeting uncomfortably under the weight of her attention.

“Of course.” She patted the cover and passed it back to him. “You two must be close.”

“We’re going through a bit of a snag right now, actually. I’m hoping this will smooth things over a bit.”

“I’m certain it will,” she confirmed with a fond tone, looking at him as if they were sharing in some complex, coded language.

After paying, she offered to wrap it for him, an offer which Jon readily accepted. She passed the book back to him and placed a hand over his, communicating something he couldn’t quite intuit. This was just some poetry book for all he knew, but she acted as if he had just divulged his life story and this book was the crux upon which his destiny rested. Jon took it back from her, offering a forced smile in return and retreated as fast as he could without outright running away.

He tucked the book, now bound in plain, brown paper and secured with twine, into his bag and made a quick detour back to the grocery store for a bottle of wine before finally going to his car. Even then, he gripped the steering wheel and had to take in several deep, steadying breaths before he started to drive back to the cabin. Dinner. That’s all he had to get through. Just dinner.

Unsurprisingly, Daisy was standing on the front porch with her arms crossed when he arrived back at the cabin.

“Consider yourself lucky you showed up when you did, Simms,” she said with a joking severity verging on sincere.

“Right on time for dinner?” he guessed.

“Almost. I was actually getting ready to come into town and track you down. Was thinking you doubled back on our agreement.”

“Does this help,” he asked, producing the wine from his bag. “As a thank you for your hospitality. Among other things.”

She took it, a smile finally cracking the performative downturn of her mouth. “How generous. We’ll need to go in and show off to the others just how generous you are.”

Daisy turned to get the door but was halted by Jon’s hand on her wrist. “Is this entirely necessary,” he implored.

“Yes, Jon. I told you as much back at the village. Martin’s already waiting for you.”

“That makes it even worse.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t. If I 'accidentally' kissed a friend, then I would be embarrassed but I wouldn’t be doing everything I could to avoid them. I think there’s more to this that you’re not telling me.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “What on earth could I possibly be hiding from you?”

She bent so that their faces were inches apart and fixed him with a glare. “You like him.”

Jon, stepped back and spun away, exasperated. “Well, of course I do! He’s my friend and-“

Daisy grabbed him and pulled him back towards her, all patience she might have had before vanishing entirely. “No, Jon. You know what I mean. You _like_ him and you’re too afraid to say it.”

Something shifted inside of him. Deep down, something long ignored, obscured by his own ignorance, slid into place and engulfed him in its enormity. He stood, blinded, deafened, entirely numb from the significance of it. Suddenly his entire world was filled with only this truth. Jon wished it would stop.

He felt Daisy’s hand rubbing back and forth across his shoulder in a vague attempt at comfort. “You alright,” she asked, sincere.

“No, no that’s not right. I couldn’t-I’m not…”

She raised her brows. “You're not what?”

They were interrupted by a raucous round of laughter from inside. The sound was muffled by the door between them, but Martin’s laugh was clear as day to Jon. It was a sound he hadn’t heard often. The car, the boat, rare occasions at the institute when Jon was locked away in his office, presumed out of earshot. His heart twisted at the sound and then at the image it conjured in his mind of Martin, overtaken with mirth as he threw his head back and laughed. Jon wished the feeling would stop.

He pulled away from Daisy’s touch again. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside.”

Daisy looked on sympathetically and opened the door for Jon. He composed himself to the extent he felt able and went inside.

Martin was sat at the table with Georgie and Melanie. From what Jon was able to parse, they were chatting to him about their now combined efforts in ghost hunting. Jon had been vaguely aware that Georgie was adding to and adapting her content and cursed himself now for not paying greater attention to what that meant. Martin was asking them all kinds of questions about audio equipment as well, various destinations in the UK they had traveled to and the eating establishments they had stopped at along the way.

An anxious look came across his face as he saw Jon come in, but it was immediately replaced by that bright smile that was so characteristic of Martin. It didn’t help the tidal wave of emotion he was going through. How could he not _like_ Martin when he looked at him like that, when he was always so welcoming and kind. And then Jon felt an insidious twist of guilt.

If he did actually _like_ Martin, he had no right to. He was rude, and selfish, and condescending, and ruined every conversation he’d ever been a part of. Martin had done everything to help him make this weekend a success and Jon just kept taking advantage of him. And Martin could barely even stand to be around him! He was sure that underneath his beaming exterior, Martin was seething in resentment.

Still smiling, he gestured to the empty chair beside him. Daisy was there, in his periphery, watching intently and jerked her head towards the chair. Jon obliged only because he felt too deadened to come up with an escape plan.

Martin leaned towards him. Their elbows brushed together where they both had them rested on the table and Jon flinched back. There was a brief change in Martin’s expression before renewing his gentle, amicable smile. “What did Elias want,” he asked.

“Nothing important,” Jon said, putting in great effort to seem unaffected. He anticipated another round of snark from Melanie, but she and Georgie just smiled and listened intently. “He asked me to come to Monday’s meeting with some figures about department spending prepared. Gave me some notes on how he’d like them prepared.”

“Oh, yes,” Martin confirmed. “Almost forgot you mentioned that meeting. Well, Melanie was just telling me that she and Georgie have been doing a bit of research, and they’re going to try to do some episodes for their shows on Millbank prison. You think we have any statements that could help them out?”

Good. Work. He knew how to talk about work. He could pretend everything was normal if he just kept talking about work.

“Hm.” After the leaks in ’99, the institute was far stricter with its procedure on allowing statements to be published. Besides, Jon was not particularly interested in the statements being used as entertainment fodder in ghost hunting media. “The current organization of the archives doesn’t particularly lend itself to being easily searched. Remedying that has been a slow process. I’ll let the two of you know if I come across anything.”

Jon braced himself again for derision. The two women just nodded and moved along with the conversation. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned to see Daisy reaching around to set the table. She caught Jon’s eye and nodded her head towards the other three. He returned a confused raise of his brow, unsure what her expression meant. The answer came in the form of a shrug and thumbs up. Apparently, the lack of conflict had come to her notice as well.

When Daisy finished divvying up plates and silverware, Basira came around and served dinner. Rather than taking the couch, Daisy and Basira elected to stand in the nearby kitchen as they ate.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Daisy exclaimed, turning to reach into the fridge. “Thank you again, Jon, for this lovely wine. I thought it’d be nice for us to have with dinner.”

“That’s nice of you, Jon,” Georgie commented as she accepted a glass from Daisy.

Melanie slumped against Georgie. “We certainly didn’t think to bring any kind of thank you gift.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Jon replied, watching Martin’s polite refusal as he was offered a glass. “Least I can do considering Daisy and Basira have opened their home up to us for three days.”

“We were talking while you were gone,” Basira said, waving her fork toward the group. “Daisy and I brought along a volleyball set. We might all go down by the water later and play a few rounds.”

Martin as well was doing his best to act natural. Jon could tell because of how miserably he was failing. At the mere mention of their evening plans, Martin immediately bent his head toward his plate and focused his attention only on getting pasta onto his fork. He scraped the utensil back and forth without ever bringing it to his mouth. His discomfort was tangible, and Jon was in no rush to contribute further to it.

“Sorry,” he replied. “I’ll be needing to prepare those figures Elias asked for. Perhaps another time.”

“Come on, Jon,” Daisy entreated, adding just enough of an edge to her voice for Jon to get the hint.

“You spend enough time worrying about that place as is,” Melanie chimed in. “You can put it aside for a bit of volleyball.”

Martin said nothing. Jon made up his mind.

“It would look terribly unprofessional for me to be the only department head to arrive unprepared,” he asserted. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

The remainder of dinner was filled with banal chatter and awkward glances. Basira and Daisy were trying to convey some message to one another through eye contact alone, but it was indecipherable to Jon. He was happy, at least, that Melanie’s attitude had shifted. She didn’t seem to be primed for an attack nearly as much as before and she even went out of her way to engage Jon in conversation a few times. Every time they exchanged words Georgie puffed up with pride.

Jon offered to do dishes, urging them to go along and have their fun. Basira politely insisted that she had no problem helping. He shooed her away. They gathered their things and headed out the backdoor towards the beach. Filling the sink with soapy water, he wished them well. Martin lingered a bit. Jon expected him to say something, to use the first moment they’d had alone to ask for an apology, to demand an explanation, to shout at him, to say _anything_.

He walked away having said nothing.

Soon enough, Jon finished the dishes and took his bag out to the front porch. There was a small patio table out there where he’d be more able to spread the various documents and files he had brought along and get a little fresh air in the meantime.

He was fighting the urge to return to the conversation he’d had here with Daisy just an hour ago. His sleeves rolled up and submerged in soapy water, Jon had fought to maintain his focus only on the work in front of him, but then the mugs in the sink reminded him of the steaming cup of tea Martin had left him this morning. Then that reminded him of how Martin always made him tea. That made him realize how he’d come to accommodate his schedule to Martin’s visits, how he waited for Martin, how he felt happier when Martin was around, how he missed him when he was out doing follow up. How long had he felt this way and never even noticed?

Now seated, Jon was resisting the temptation of his own thoughts again and again. He was distracted as he scrolled through his email and saw messages from Martin. He was distracted as he scanned through his calendar and saw meetings with Martin scheduled in. He was distracted as he saw Martin’s name attached to the notes of a statement. He was distracted.

It was impossible to focus on day-to-day institute work with his mind operating like this, but not impossible to sift through the envelope of evidence on Gertrude he’d brought along. It wasn’t much. An employment history. An address. The _Alexandria_ tape Basira had given him. Images from the room where her body was found. He cross referenced everything with his notes, hoping in vain for an epiphany.

He noticed in the background of one of the crime scene photos a box labeled _Michael_. Desperately, he flipped through his notebook, hoping that Michael might have mentioned something when either to Sasha or to him when he’d come to recapture Helen. In his fervor, he went too far and came across the scribblings he made in preparation for this weekend.

It felt silly now. Martin likely didn’t even remember half of it, and they had barely been asked anything about their relationship. Here, on the first page, he scanned over the bulleted timeline of what their first date would have looked like. When Jon brought the topic up during their dinner meeting, Martin went ghostly pale and took on a pained expression despite claiming he was perfectly fine. Jon should have taken the hint then that Martin absolutely did not want to be involved and was too kind to just say no.

“Jon?” He was startled from his ponderance as Martin emerged through the front door. “Oh! There you are. Worried you might have gone back off to town without saying anything. Not that you’re not allowed to do that! You’re your own person, after all, and-“

“Can I help you, Martin,” he snapped.

“Right.” He gestured to the water glass in his hand, as if that was any answer. “I got thirsty. Thought I might try one more time to get you to come down to the beach with us. You seem really lonely out here by yourself.”

Pity. Martin Blackwood was extending him goddamn pity. The last thing Jon needed. Honestly, it was more insulting than if Martin would just reject him.

Jon turned back to his work, making sure his notebook was open to a more discreet page. “I’ve already told you. Lots of work to be done.”

“Melanie was right, though,” Martin persisted, voice feeble. “It’s holiday, and you already work so hard. And that financial report can wait until…Hold on. Is that-are those photos from the tunnels?”

“What I do on my own time is none of your business.” Jon slammed the evidence folder shut as he said this. His tone severe in hopes that Martin would leave him the hell alone. “How I spend my holiday is my decision.”

Martin shrunk against the doorframe. “Right. Well, if you change your mind-“

“I won’t.”

“ _If_ you change your mind,” Martin reiterated firmly. “We’ll be down by the water. We’d love to have you join us. Honestly.”

He disappeared back inside. Jon glared at his laptop screen for a moment, but the sound of the backdoor to the cabin closing caused him to realize what had just happened. He felt the need to leap from his chair, to chase after Martin, to say he didn’t mean it, to apologize, to say he’d love to join them, he’d changed his mind. None of this happened, of course. Jon stayed rooted to his chair, trembling slightly. No wonder Martin was so damned uncomfortable around him.

Why was all this so hard?

Jon considered the gift he had bought earlier. The book was like a leaden weight in his bag and he found it impossible to put it out of his mind. What had seemed like a generous and considerate gesture before just seemed ridiculous now. When would he even give it to Martin, anyway? _Yes, Martin, I know I've been a complete monster this entire trip, but I did buy you this book. Forgive me?_

He dug it out from his messenger back and tossed it onto the table, eyeing it as if he expected the tome to apologize for the predicament he’d put himself in. A note. Maybe a note clarifying everything would help. But what would he even write? That seemed to be the question of the evening. What to say? What to write? What words could he possibly use to mend the rifts he had already opened in a mere 24 hours?

Jon brought out a blank piece of stationary and scribbled something out quickly. He was used to reciting words, not dictating them. Coming to the end, he was briefly stymied on how to sign it. _Love_ was off the table. _Sincerely_ was too formal. _Yours_? Absolutely not. Eventually, he cut his own deliberations short and signed off with his name only. He was leaving no room for further misconception.

The note was brief but adequate. It would clear the air between them when he did decide to hand it over, he hoped. The cynical part of his brain assured him it would not.

Shoving the book and its new note back away where an errant visitor would be unable to see it, he continued on with his work. He decided to actually put together the budget report Elias had requested. It was a simple task-albeit a tedious one-but it worked well enough to pass the time. The cacophony of the group coming back into the cabin signaled to him how much time had passed. A quick check of his watch told him it was nearing 11, much later than expected. It didn’t take him by surprise. By now, he was used to looking at a clock to see he’d somehow been absorbed in his work for hours later than he intended.

Jon decided to keep working. Going in now would just reintroduce an awkward tension.

Melanie came through the front door. “How’s the numbers?”

“Just fine, thank you,” he replied, not looking up from his laptop.

“We missed you, Jon,” Georgie said sympathetically as she appeared. “Martin mostly, but I was able to tell him plenty of stories to tide him over.”

Jon snapped to attention. “What stories?”

“Oh, nothing embarrassing.”

“Nothing _too_ embarrassing,” Melanie corrected.

“Might have showed him a few videos I still have from our band days.”

“You didn’t.”

Georgie leaned over and patted him on the head. “Hard to tell without you there. Guess you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

With that, they turned and walked away, arm in arm. Jon hadn’t thought about his college band in years and felt the return of that hideous, sinking embarrassed feeling. The thought of Martin seeing him in those grubby clothes and smudged eye makeup, plucking the same four chords on a bass thinking himself some kind of talent, sent a rather specific kind of terror into his heart.

Instead, he committed himself to continuing on as normal. The feeling would go away if he just thought about work for a while. He would talk about it if Martin brought it up or do his best to put it out of his mind if he did not.

Just as he’d gotten back into the simple rhythm or sorting data into spreadsheets, he was interrupted once more.

“What did Jon say,” he heard a harsh whisper float down from the open window above. Basira.

Jon perked up. He most definitely was not meant to be overhearing this. Normally, he would try to focus his attention elsewhere, but he had to make sure Daisy kept his secret.

“What did Martin say,” came Daisy’s reply.

“Just that Jon’s not much for affection. There’s something weird about those two, though. Something’s off.”

“The whole institute is sectioned. Of course they’re weird.”

“No, I mean, like, weird about each other. You saw Martin at the beach. Every time we tried to talk about Jon he got all cagey like he couldn’t wait to talk about anything else. It’s totally strange. Admit it.”

“Probably just not used to talking about each other. We’d be strange too if we had to sneak around all the time.”

“It’s different, Daisy. What did Jon say?”

“He’s just feeling embarrassed, is all.”

“There’s gotta be something else.”

Daisy’s tone was casual, unflappable. “If there is, he certainly didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think you were such a crummy detective, Tonner,” Basira joked. Suddenly there was an eruption of laughter between the two.

At this point, Jon felt he had no need to keep listening. He heard everything he needed to hear. Everything about their conversation confirmed everything he already knew, and he certainly didn’t want to overhear whatever was going on now.

He began packing away the things he had taken out of his bag, confident that it was safe to go inside. The light had turned out just as Melanie and Georgie had appeared and enough time had passed since then that Martin was likely asleep. He could go inside, change into his pajamas and wait to deal with everything that had happened today until, hopefully, never.

Jon opened the front door gingerly, mindful of the squeaky hinge he’d observed earlier. Martin was asleep on the pullout couch and a twang of guilt hit Jon for not being there to assist in remaking it. He snuck over to his side of the bed, got his clothes and his toothbrush out of his duffel bag and disappeared into the bathroom.

Recent events had transpired in such a way that Jon hadn’t been allowed time-more rather hadn’t <i>allowed<i> himself time-to stop and look in the mirror. He wasn’t typically one for self-admiration anyway, but something about today, the heightened emotions, the intense thrill, the horrible defeat, the begrudging confession, left him exhausted and unable to look away.

His hands drifted over the crescent shaped scars which functioned as a perpetual reminder of Jane Prentiss. Some of them still lacking feeling and tingling with numbness as his hands drifted over them. Then his attention turned to his hair. A haircut was the last thing on his mind lately, and his dark hair hung around his chin. It was the longest it had been since his time at Oxford. He looked nothing like he had in college, though. In fact, Jon was taken aback by just how old he really looked. Every day he found a new grey hair and lines were etched into his features that hadn’t been there a year ago.

Most of all, though, he felt tired. Jon took his glasses off, as if his inhibited vision would allow him some small amount of escapism. That’s what this entire weekend had been meant for, but the perpetual turmoil of his life had somehow followed him here. Trying to take a weekend away from the secondhand horrors and monstrosities of the institute just propelled him straight towards the platonic conflicts he’d driven out of his life.

Jon thought to the way he and Martin had laughed together in the car and the way Martin had held him close on the boat and understood them for the scant moments of real happiness he’d experienced as of late. Both experiences had been soured-but still. Martin made him happy. Once the thought became clear, he banished it from his mind.

It was entirely selfish for him to have invited Martin if that was the case. Jon invited Martin, knowing the invitation would provoke discomfort, because he expected Martin to be some kind of emotional support coworker. Martin said yes because of course he did. He was too polite to say no. After the way Jon had initially treated Martin as a nuisance and now treated him as a convenience, it was no wonder he was so distressed at the idea of even platonic closeness.

These thoughts ran rampant in Jon’s mind until he caught sight of himself in the mirror again. He looked crazed. Right. Pity. If he didn’t need it from Martin, he certainly didn’t need it from himself.

Ready for sleep, he gathered his things and exited the bathroom. The lamp on the end table was on. Martin was sitting up in bed.

His hands were folded against his stomach and he looked at Jon with a soft smile. “I was starting to worry you’d stay out there all night.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Jon said from where he’d frozen in place, clutching his things.

“I was, but the running water in the sink must’ve woke me.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Martin reassured. “I was hoping we’d get to talk tonight anyway.”

Jon made his way over to his side of the bed, fully prepared for Martin to berate him. He tucked his clothes back into his bag, feeling the weight of Martin’s attention at his back. Looking him in the eye would be too much right now. A silence wedged its way between them as Jon sat facing away on the edge of the bed.

“What would you like to talk about, Martin,” he finally asked.

Martin was near inaudible, the anxiety in his voice making the entire room seem smaller.

“Couldn’t quite make that out, Martin.”

“I think you know Jon,” he said, voice quavering. “What about.”

“Yes, well. I suppose I do.”

The silence returned. Jon wasn’t about to jump in with an automatic response. He needed time to think, needed time to make sure he said the right thing. Whatever shred of friendship was left between them, he wanted to preserve it.

“I just...I was just caught up in the moment is all. I know we talked about not doing that, and I’m sorry to have taken advantage of you. It was a complete mistake. It won’t ever happen again.”

Another long pause.

“A mistake…” Martin whispered, his tone laden with uncertainty and consideration. He shifted away on the bed. Jon could feel it. “…good.”

The light was turned off. The silence returned, this time left unbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Jon be like "he just kissed me as a friend and he probably hates me now" we love these good communication skills
> 
> Edit: y'all are goin WILD for this book plot point and honestly im thriving on your comments <333


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who leaves such wonderful, thoughtful comments. Without y'all I would be much less motivated to write this fic! I love reading what you have to say and it makes me so happy when y'all pick up on the little details I sprinkle in. :)

Martin had been stirring in a fitful half sleep for some time when the realization that he was lying in an empty bed brought him fully awake. When the panic wore off and he allowed his heart to still, he rose from the couch bed and wandered towards the kitchen to make a cup of morning tea for himself and Jon.

He peaked out the back door, expecting that Jon had been the early riser today. Both chairs were empty. Abandoning all thoughts of tea, he went to the front door, hoping to see Jon in one of the chairs out there, hoping that Jon’s car would still be there, hoping that he hadn’t gotten fed up with him and driven away in the night.

His car was still there. There was that at least. Elevating his anxiety for a third time, however, was the sight of Daisy. She had one hand gripping the frame of the open backseat door, the other on the roof of the car. Even from this distance, her rage was evident, not exactly yelling but certainly not just having a pleasant chat. So that’s where Jon disappeared to, Martin thought with a huff.

“Tried to tell her to leave it alone, but Daisy never misses a chance to intervene,” came Basira’s voice. Martin startled, letting out a rather unflattering yelp as he turned to face her. She was standing at the large bay window, her arms crossed. Her tone held the same note of irritation that Martin was feeling. “We got up early and when we came down, we noticed he was gone. I told her he was probably just on a walk or something, but she decided she just had to go look for him.”

“Have you been there the whole time? I-I should have-How did I not see you?”

“You were still asleep when we came down the first time. When Daisy found him out there and decided to pick a fight, I knew it was gonna be a while,” she explained. “Went back upstairs to put on proper clothes and came back down just as you got to the door.”

“Right.”

The kettle went off, drawing her attention to the kitchen. “We were going to make breakfast,” she whispered remorsefully, more to herself than Martin.

“I could help,” he offered, ignoring her defeatism. “I’m not the best cook, but I can follow directions well enough.”

She looked at him with squinted eyes, skeptical, analyzing him as if some physical characteristic might tell her whether his help would be sufficient. The confrontation drew her attention back outside one last time. At this point, Jon had sat up and was fully visible. He wasn’t even arguing, just absorbing the canon fire of her words.

“Fine,” Basira sighed, going to the kitchen. “Looks like they’ll be at each other’s throats for a bit, anyway.”

Basira gave him quick instruction on how to shred potatoes into hash browns as she set about chopping the rest of the ingredients. Her directions were thorough but clipped and she seemed deep in focus as she worked about her tasks. Martin tried to engage her in conversation, but her attempt at friendly answer didn’t mask her distraction or discontent. Both of them were thinking more of the altercation outside than of their own conversation.

Jon and Daisy had barely even known each other a full day. What conflict could they possibly have encountered that motivated Daisy to seek him out and yell at him the way she was? When she had come back with groceries, she had claimed that Jon had been outside the café and on his phone already. The only interaction they had had was a polite wave. At least, that’s what Daisy had claimed. There had been that conversation on the porch, though, but that was so brief. What kind of 2 minute interaction could have spawned a yelling match like this?

Now that Martin considered it, she had been awfully insistent about waiting for him before sitting down to eat dinner last night. Martin had just assumed that Jon would be working through another dinner, skipping another meal, but for someone whose familiarity extended no further than a wave and a quick chat on the doorstep, Daisy had been completely confident that he would be there.

Basira compiled the ingredients they’d prepared into something resembling a quiche and Martin excused himself to attend to his morning routine. By the time he had showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into his outfit for the day, everyone had found their way into the cottage. Jon was still in his pajamas and sat shoulder to shoulder with Daisy. Everything about their arrangement suggested a warden-prisoner relationship. Daisy with her rigid posture, folded arms, and stoic expression and Jon with his head hung and barely restrained grimace. Georgie and Melanie sat on the other side of the table from them, not speaking.

“Martin,” Daisy exclaimed with a false cheerfulness, getting to her feet. All eyes in the room, save for Jon’s, turned to him. “Here, take my seat.”

“No, it’s alright. I, uh, I can find another seat. You’re already sitting there. It-It’s ok.”

“I insist.”

She pivoted the chair so that it was facing him in an irrefutable invitation. Basira wrapped an arm around Daisy as she joined her next to the kitchen counter, but it was a limp gesture. All of the love and affection from yesterday was nowhere to be seen. Everyone besides Daisy was doing their best to ignore the tension in the room. Daisy, on the other hand, seemed to be diverting all of her energy into putting on a happy face. It didn’t make anything less awkward.

“Is everyone alright,” Martin asked, deciding that broaching the subject was better than sitting in this festering silence.

“Perfectly fine,” Daisy declared on behalf of the entire room. She followed Basira around and together they served breakfast and coffee. “We’re probably all just a little tired from yesterday’s activity. In need of a little pick me up before today’s agenda and all that.”

There were a few mumbles of affirmation and then the tension flowed back into the deep cracks that had formed in the foundation of the weekend. Daisy would occasionally make some attempt at small talk and was provided either a brief answer or none at all. No one was in the mood for talking.

“We hope you don’t mind,” Georgie spoke up as dishes were being collected. “But Melanie and I saw this old, run-down house on the way out here. We were going to go shoot some b-roll and try to get some emf recordings. We’ll meet you in the village for lunch if you don’t mind?”

“No problem at all,” Daisy said with unfitting enthusiasm. “Maybe we could be your police escort.”

“You don’t have any authority up here,” Melanie snarked, cracking the first smile of the morning.

“Some badge looks better than none,” Basira retorted drily. “Just let us come along, will you?”

The attention turned back towards Martin. A question was being implied and explicitly left unspoken. This was the cue they’d discussed last night on the beach. The four of them would go off and Martin would deny the invitation.

“Oh, that sounds like fun, but I’d hate for us to be in the way,” Martin offered, making his own half-hearted attempt at cheerfulness. “I think the two of us might stay behind.”

“Suit yourself,” Basira said.

The four of them departed. Martin watched from the window as they climbed into the campervan and took off. When he looked back, Jon was still sat at the dining table, head hung low. He was sulking. There was really no better way to phrase it.

“Is something wrong,” Martin asked, softening his tone. He sat across the table from Jon. “I saw what happened with Daisy this morning, but I have to admit I really have no idea what happened. Just looked mad from what I could see.”

Jon clasped his hands in his lap, his voice little more than a whisper as he said, “She thinks I have reason to apologize to you.”

Martin paused. If he was being honest, an apology from Jon would be nice. Trying to explain to the others why he had just run off like that certainly wasn’t his idea of a fun holiday memory. Jon had been so worried about being a fifth wheel, and then foisted that scenario onto Martin instead. And then that incident last night with the case file? Jon hadn’t snapped at him like that since before the infestation. It hurt. Yeah, an apology would be a great place to start.

It would be fine if Jon would so much as articulate his feelings, but more often than not he just seemed to twist himself into a silent rage and storm off. Martin had been able to pry some emotional honesty from him on the boat, but everything since then had been a constant struggle.

Not to mention the mental gymnastics Martin was doing to avoid thinking about the kiss. A mistake? It made his stomach churn just thinking about it. Jon had to know by now how Martin felt, the kiss being the defining moment. But why? Why did he do it? He made it so clear at dinner that night that the possibility of that was off the table. Was it just to hurt him?

He did a mental handwave to ward off those thoughts. They weren’t helping anyone, and Jon made it clear enough last night that there wasn’t going to be any further discussion on the topic. Better to focus on the conversation at hand.

“It’s alright, Jon,” he said. “Not sure why you’d want to sleep in the car, but it’s really nothing for her to get so worked up about. I didn’t mind. Barely even noticed, really, besides getting the whole bed to myself. I’m sorry she felt the need to get mad at you, but it’s ok.”

Jon’s eyebrows knitted together, and he chewed at the corner of his mouth. There was something on his mind, clearly, but Martin already knew that whatever he was thinking would never manifest into any kind of statement or declaration. He wished he could just shake Jon by the shoulders and uncork his bottled-up emotions. Instead he just watched as Jon sank deeper and deeper into his thoughts.

“I was thinking of going for a walk,” he interrupted. “Would you like to come along?”

Jon looked up, almost as if he’d forgotten Martin was there. “A walk?”

“Yeah, people do it sometimes to get around,” Martin teased.

Jon frowned, but in that way he did with Tim when you could tell he was amused but was putting on a show. Martin couldn’t help the way his own smile brightened. Jon, catching sight of that smiled as well.

Jon got up from the table. Martin’s spirits were soaring until Jon’s expression tensed in concern again. He followed his line of sight out the window to find the weather this morning was much gloomier than the last. A wind was blowing, and raindrops spattered at the window every so often, not enough to warrant an umbrella just yet but enough that you’d be well served by bringing one along.

“I haven’t brought a jacket.”

“Just go get changed.”

“I’ll get cold,” Jon insisted.

“I won’t,” Martin said. “Just take mine.”

Once again, Martin could tell Jon had something to say. His eyes bounced back and forth between Martin and the window rapidly, trying to make up his mind. Martin, tiring of the unnecessary drama of the morning grabbed Jon’s duffel bag and dumped it unceremoniously into his arms.

“Jon, get changed,” he commanded. “It’s just a walk.”

Jon attempted to steal one last glance out the window, but Martin stood purposefully in his way. Martin jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom and finally he went.

As he exited, Martin held out his jacket, an old brown, suede thing with knit sleeves. Jon, wearing another variation of office attire, took it and shrugged it on as if the jacket might tear apart just from holding it the wrong way. Martin watched from the backdoor which he was already holding open in expectation. Jon approached and then paused to grab his messenger bag first.

“I doubt you’ll be needing that,” Martin said, not entirely certain if it was a joke or command.

“No, I do,” Jon stated, defensive for whatever reason.

Unwilling to cause any new confrontation, he decided not to argue. If Jon felt he needed his work bag, then so be it.

Martin led Jon down a path Basira had pointed out the night before. It led down by the shore and then cut back through a nice pasture before meeting back up with the road that led to the cabin. The previous evening had been less about volleyball and more about the four women commiserating with Martin. Georgie had shared with him plenty of stories that he made a mental note to file away for later and Melanie fervently told him to just dump Jon.

Basira had been the one to offer more realistic advice. She had told Martin to cut the fussiness and be more vocal about his expectations. It’s fine to care about someone, she’d said, but you can’t care so much that you don’t take care of yourself. The walk this morning was entirely at her recommendation. It would give them some time and clarity to sort out how they were feeling.

Daisy’s outburst this morning wasn’t part of the plan they’d devised, but then again, neither was Jon’s absence. On the beach last night, she was uncharacteristically somber. Her anger on Martin’s behalf had been simmering just below the surface the entire night. He would mention something about Jon in passing and she would have some snappish response. Basira had chided her on her abrupt and harsh commentary several times but the reminder only ever affected a temporary change in Daisy. Despite her insistence otherwise, Martin was now certain she’d said something to Jon when they were both in town last night.

As they walked, nervousness rolled off Jon like the waves on the shore. His hands gripped the strap of his messenger bag, clenching and unclenching. Not once had he removed his eye from the dirt path directly ahead of him. It occurred to Martin that they’d not made eye contact even once that morning. He hoped that acting normal would set Jon at ease, but he was far too wrapped in his own thoughts to pay Martin any mind. He could probably disappear, and Jon wouldn’t notice.

The weather was getting worse. Not terribly, but enough that Martin thanked himself for resolving to bring an umbrella along. Whatever Jon was thinking of, he was so absorbed in those thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the rain pattering down onto them. Still unsuccessful in shaking him from his stupor was Martin's flourish of the umbrella as he drew it open above them. In an effort to give them both shelter, Martin moved in closer, knocking their shoulders together in hopes that it would be a lighthearted distraction. This was not the case as Jon immediately reacted as if struck by a live wire. He flinched from the contact, looking at Martin with an expression nearing betrayal before immediately bowing his head once more and continuing on.

Martin tilted the umbrella toward him. "You alright?"

"Just fine."

"If you say so. You seem a little jumpy is all."

"Hm."

So, he wasn't feeling talkative. No big surprise there. Regardless, Martin swallowed down his waning patience and decided to change tactics. A nice, quiet walk. It might not resolve any of the conflict that had cropped up between them, but just sharing a moment of pease might calm things down. Some progress is better than no progress, Martin reminded himself, an oft repeated mantra in all matters concerning Jon.

Maybe he really was just jumpy. With his new paranoia and all, it would make sense. Slowly, with the umbrella a buffer between them, he moved in closer. Jon took no notice. Martin tried again. Gentler this time, Martin closed the difference, brushing their shoulders together. He was hoping it would bring Jon some mindfulness, a reminder to appreciate the moment, appreciate his surroundings, appreciate his company. But no, Jon moved away again as if the two of them were magnets repelling from one another. He glanced up towards Martin in his periphery with a tangible anxiety, reasserting the distance between them. Closing himself off. Again.

Ever since he’d stumbled across Gertrude in those damn tunnels everything had been different. Martin wished he had just paid better attention to staying with Tim and Jon. Who had it helped to find Gertrude’s body down there? Certainly not anyone in the archives. Certainly not Gertrude. Martin thought that he should have just kept his mouth shut, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he could just bottle away. Not that he ever would, really, but Jon had changed so completely since then. If Sasha hadn’t gotten so stern with him, Martin worried they might have lost him entirely.

Even with Sasha, last night hadn’t given him much hope that Jon’s sanity wasn’t still at stake. Jon gave up on his suspicions that either him or Tim had anything to do with it (he hoped), but Martin still found him all alone last night, pouring over his evidence on Gertrude. It was all he cared about these days. It consumed him. When he’d been invited on this trip, Martin hoped that this trip was some kind of sign that Jon was willing to distance himself from this obsession, to regrow the little bit of connection they’d all formed in the archives. Part of him said that it was a foolish wish to begin with. Another part told him it was still achievable.

“Are you thinking about that weird war statement you had us researching,” Martin asked, trying to pull Jon from whatever train of thought he was absorbed in. “That one where the guy just walked into some Egyptian tomb and that thing attacked him?”

A long pause.

“Jon?”

“Hm? Yes, that.”

“Weird one, isn’t it?”

Jon mumbled some affirmation, leaving Martin unsatisfied in his hope that Jon had been paying attention to him at all.

“There’s a recording of that one, right? Gertrude took the statement directly?”

Another mumble.

“Sasha actually told me that Gertrude said the guy who gave the statement was a ghost. He just evaporated in front of her and went into the light,” Martin tested.

A mumble.

Martin stopped abruptly on the path and crossed his arms. Jon took a few more steps before noticing. Finally, he tore his gaze from the ground below and met Martin’s scouring glare with anxiety and confusion.

“Martin?”

“Have you listened to a single word I’ve said since we left the cabin?”

“Yes, we were just talking about, uh…about work.”

“What about work?”

“Statements?”

“Jon, do you even want me here? Seems like it doesn’t really matter whether I agreed to be here.”

“Of course I want you here, Martin,” he said, his tone pleading. “It’s just that with everything-with Georgie and Melanie-"

“Don’t use them as an excuse,” Martin interrupted. “Georgie’s only been nice. Don’t act like telling stories from uni is like exposing you or something. Everyone has embarrassing stories.”

“What about Melanie,” Jon argued.

“Melanie tried to get you to come with us for volleyball last night! Maybe she was kind of rude at first, but it’s not like you gave her any reason to be your best friend when you guys first met.” Jon opened his mouth to protest but Martin cut him off. “We all heard the recording, Jon. It’s not like you were exactly kind to her.”

“Things have just been difficult,” Jon whispered, looking back at the ground.

“You think things have been difficult for you?” Martin said, restraining a shout. “Here I am, trapped in the middle of nowhere Scotland being ignored by my fake boyfriend and having to justify to everyone else why I’m even with you in the first place! They told me to break up with you, you know that? But I can’t exactly do that, can I? It’s all fake, and I’m having to do the stupid work of holding this lie together while you run and hide and solve your little murder mysteries!”

“Martin-"

“No! No. I’m sick of this. I thought you wanted to be friends, Jon. I thought you invited me out here because you cared about me and wanted to get to know me better, but I was wrong!”

“I do care about you, Martin. Look, I-"

“No, you don’t. If you cared you wouldn’t-"

“I do! Look!” Jon opened his bag and dug frantically through it, pulling out something wrapped in brown parcel paper. A note was tucked into the twine that held the package together. “In town, yesterday, I got this for you. I wanted to give it to you last night, but I was nervous and-"

Martin snatched it from him. He glanced at the note, some wishy-washy sentiment written with hollow words he wouldn’t give the dignity of reading completely, before crumpling it and shoving it in his pocket. Jon flinched. Rather than untie and remove the string, he ripped the packaging apart carelessly. Inside was a weighty poetry anthology titled after some Greek hero he’d never heard of.

“You think this makes up for it?” he snapped, tossing it to the ground between them. “A book isn’t an apology, Jon. You can’t just go to the bookstore and find some random poetry and expect me to be fine with all this!”

“I’m sorry, Martin, really. I-"

“I don’t care. I’ll see you back at the cabin and we’ll meet everyone in the village for lunch.”

He took off in the direction they’d been going originally, hoping Jon would get the hint that he needed space. Luckily, he heard no footsteps behind him. Martin kept walking, his rage bundled up and burning brightly in his chest. There was an outcropping of stone up ahead by the shore he was confident he could hide behind.

He crouched down, removed his glasses and wept.

The only thing Martin had expected from this weekend was to build his friendship with Jon. He had dreamed of more, but only expected three days of pleasant conversation, fun outings, and new friends. The false pretenses meant it was always going to be tricky. That was no surprise. The surprise was that Jon had spent the weekend either ignoring him or outright avoiding him. The second they got out here, it was like he realized just how much he didn’t want to spend this time with Martin.

It wasn’t like when Martin had first been transferred to the archives because it was even worse. At least then he could convince himself that Jon’s derision was because of his work ethic. Now it was unavoidably personal. Jon couldn’t stand him.

But Jon had always been sort of a prick to everybody. He should be used to this. He shouldn’t be crying because Jon was his typical, easily aggravated, distant self. He shouldn’t be crying because he should have known exactly what he was getting himself into.

He shouldn’t be crying, and yet he was.

It hadn’t been since he was a very young child that he’d sobbed like this. Crying only made his mother angrier, and he learned fast that it was far better to listen to her without argument and run to his room at the first sign of escape. He would sit there, against his door, taking deep hiccupping breaths as silent tears rolled down his cheeks while his mother spoke on the phone with a friend about her ungrateful, insolent, brat of a son. The saltwater misery running down his face, dripping onto his clenched fists reminded him of that miserable, hopeless childhood.

Martin didn’t bother holding back, heaving deep breaths and wiping snot from his face with the sleeve of his sweater in absence of a tissue. Were he not so exhausted from the sudden outpour of emotion, he would’ve felt a distinct embarrassment. He was nearly thirty, and he was sitting on the beach in Scotland bawling because his crush didn’t like him back. What a pity.

He rose to his feet and wandered over to the tidepools to regain feeling in his legs. Wondering how much time had passed, he checked his phone and was surprised to see the smallest amount of signal. Enough that a litany of texts had flooded in, mostly from Tim and Sasha. In the little group chat they’d established, the two of them had sent several memes either generically applicable to work or specifically tailormade to the ridiculous and terrifying scenarios the archives seemed to foster.

_TIM:_

_Martin!_

_Martin hey! answer us!_

_SASHA:_

_hes probably busy, calm down_

_TIM:_

_martin! have you convinced jon to fall in love with you yet?_

_are u not answering because u and jon are holding hands and watching the sunset together????_

_probably busy writing ur vows to each other_

_SASHA:_

_tim shut up_

_TIM:_

_not until martin tells us whats going on!!!_

He considered not answering, just turning his phone back off and walking back to the cabin. It’s not like he owed them an explanation. He’d be seeing them on Monday anyway. Then he thought of getting this treatment come Monday morning. The two of them would pull their chairs up to his desk. Tim foaming at the mouth to hear every detail, Sasha at least pretending to show some restraint despite being equally eager. Tim would have some stupid prop like a bouquet of flowers or a plastic wedding ring. He’d insist Martin would have to give it to Jon, and then Martin would drop the bomb that this weekend had, in fact, completely sucked. Better to get it over with now.

_MARTIN:_

_complete disaster_

_get me outta here, Jons a prick as always_

_almost no signal but ill tell you everything later_

Moments later, Sasha sent back a text consisting only of a thumbs up emoji and a sparkling heart emoji. Tim sent his favored response when Martin had bad interactions with Jon: a terribly photoshopped image of a white cat with teary, all too human eyes. Misery blunted its effect this time, but it did cheer him up, if only a little. Martin both hated it and laughed at it every time, and that was precisely why Tim sent it so often.

He had enough time left before lunch that he could finish the walk rather than doubling back. Martin wished that things between him and Jon hadn’t grown so terse because this path really was lovely. It would be nice to have someone to share this with, even if that person resented him for having a crush. Up ahead, a bridge crossed over a creek skirting the outside of the cow pasture.

Martin stood in the middle of the bridge, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes. Cold raindrops tapped at his skin and splashed into the water below, mixing with the sound of the creek bubbling over smooth pebbles and racing away. A breeze chased after it, twisting through Martin’s hair and giving him a small shiver. The wood railing beneath his fingers was worn smooth from the countless others who had paused here before him.

In the distance somewhere a cow mooed, bringing a soft smile to Martin’s face. He even laughed a little at the thought of asking Daisy and Basira if he could just move out here with them. He could convince them to install wifi and get some remote job telemarketing or transcribing audio or something. Whenever he felt sad or stressed or lonely he could take a walk out to the cow pasture and forget his hellish time at the institute altogether. It was a fun fantasy to entertain but ultimately unrealistic.

Coming to the end of his walk and returning to the cabin, he saw Jon waiting for him on the front porch. He was sitting on the step with his chin in his hands, a distant look in his eye. His glasses were off and even from this distance Martin could see the permanent worry etched into his features. He looked so small.

As Martin got closer, Jon stood and approached him. His eyes were red and glassy. Martin couldn’t tell if he’d been crying as well or if he was just sleep deprived. Why he’d be crying, though, was a mystery to Martin.

“Martin, I really am terribly sorry,” he said gravely, looking for forgiveness.

“Forget it. Let’s just go meet the others for lunch.”

The silence between them was heavy as they drove down to the village. Jon was eager to break it but never followed through. At one point, his hand hovered near the radio dial before falling limp and returning to the steering wheel.

Martin checked his phone again, but they were back to having no signal. He’d have to look when they got back into the village. Having already received a response from both Tim and Sasha, he was looking for distraction more than he was conversation.

The others were milling about outside the café when they arrived. Spotting them, Georgie waved. Martin waved back just as the others turned to look. Basira looked to be back to her usual self, abandoning the gloom of the morning. She was pressed against Daisy and the two of them were chatting enthusiastically.

“Can we just pretend to be normal,” Martin asked as they pulled into street parking down the block. “For everyone’s sake?”

“Can you describe normal?” Jon was tense. After turning off the car he had returned his hands to the steering wheel and he was staring straight ahead.

“Let’s just hit a reset button on the whole weekend, ok,” Martin bargained. “At least for this lunch, the last 24 hours didn’t happen. We put on a happy face and pretend to have a good time and hopefully at least the four of them can say they had a nice weekend.”

Jon was thinking. There were a million unsaid thoughts passing through his mind. Like always. Martin wished he would say even one. He wished that Jon would try to apologize- _really_ apologize, not just because he felt like he should.

“Sure.”

They exited the car. Martin swallowed his disappointment and linked their arms. There was no warmth in it. No exchange of startled glances. No encouraging nods. No reassuring squeezes. They walked up the block arm in arm, both of them staring ahead in tired determination.

Daisy was approaching them, and Martin flashed her a smile. Jon made no effort to the same. As always, he had made up his mind to be miserable.

“How’d the two of you like that hike we recommended,” she asked, her attention directed towards Jon.

“It was fine,” Jon answered flatly.

“You were right, Daisy,” Martin cut in. “A little bit of fresh air is all we needed. How was that spooky house Georgie was talking about?”

Daisy was suspicious. Her eyes, taking on a brief sheen of scrutiny, passed from Jon to Martin before returning to their normal brightness. The heavy lifting Martin would need to do to compensate for Jon’s poor attitude had already begun.

“Oh, just your garden variety abandoned house, mostly. The girls got a lot of good footage from what I could tell. You guys ready to eat?”

Lunch passed in relative normalcy. Jon kept quiet, but Martin chattered on more than normal to distract from it. He occasionally caught Daisy attempting pointed eye contact with Jon and Jon consistently ignoring her. Regardless, Martin was able to maintain a lighthearted mood. Melanie was laughing. Basira was employing her dry humor. Georgie was unsuccessfully trying to rope Jon into recounting embarrassing memories. Had he not just recovered from a sobbing fit less than an hour before, Martin would have considered this a typical outing for the weekend.

Lunch was coming to its natural conclusion and Jon excused himself to the bathroom. Moments later, the waiter came by to announce that the other gentleman in their party had already settled the bill. Simultaneously, Martin’s phone buzzed. A message from Jon

_JON_

_Running an errand. Meet you at the car soon._

Then, almost instantly.

_JON_

_Or you can get a ride with the others. Your choice._

He suppressed a deep sigh. His first impulse was to question everything. _What kind of errands could Jon possibly be running? Why would he just run off like that? Why not say something first?_ And then he shut down that line of questioning. If Jon wasn’t going to be thoughtful enough to give him a verbal heads up, then Martin had no reason to be thoughtful enough to consider explanations. As always, Jon was just being a dick.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Basira. Thank you. Jon’s just being Jon again. You know.”

“Well, tell him thank you for lunch when you track him down,” Melanie said. “See you back at the cabin?”

“Actually,” Martin blurted, holding out a hand to pause their retreat. “If you wouldn’t mind-could I get a ride?”

“He ditched you,” Daisy growled, the anger from this morning back in full force.

“No, not that! He’s just running a quick errand. He’ll be back to the cabin, soon. I’m sure. Just didn’t want to keep me from spending time with the rest of you while he does a bit of research for work is all.”

He smiled nervously as the four of them eyed him. It was an obvious lie. They knew as well as he did that Daisy was exactly right. Jon had run off and only given Martin the barest of consideration. At least he hadn’t left Martin waiting on the café patio hoping for a ride. At least he hadn’t completely forgotten. At least.

Martin was ushered into then van. Basira gave him a sympathetic expression and Melanie gave him a stilted, conciliatory pat on the back. He returned a look that he hoped came across as grateful to them.

As Georgie chattered on about the features of the van and how she and Melanie had modded it to be the ideal ghost hunting machine, Martin watched Daisy sink further and further into a quiet, seething rage. Basira was trying in vain to draw her attention elsewhere but Daisy’s gaze was distant and determined. She was deep in thought and Martin was thankful not to be the subject of her deliberations.

“The three of you get the game and the projector set up,” Daisy instructed as they unloaded at the cabin. “I’m taking Martin with me to check on the boat.

Martin exchanged a nervous look with Basira, but Daisy was already striding through the front door. He had no interest in finding out what would happen if he didn’t follow.

When he caught up, Daisy made no acknowledgement of his presence. Her hands were bunched in the pockets of her jacket and her jaw was set. Martin couldn’t help but glance towards her every few steps for some hint at what was going on. After maintaining a steady pace, she stopped abruptly at the edge of the wooden dock.

“I talked to him, you know.”

“I guessed.”

“He didn’t listen. And then he didn’t listen when I talked to him this morning.”

“He never does.”

“It just makes me so angry,” she cried, emotion bursting through. “The worst part is that I’m not even mad at Jon. I’m mad at me. I’m mad at who I was and who I still have to work so hard not to be. I used to be just like him. I worked too hard and I ignored all the people that made me happy and I was mean to them and I was angry and aggressive and brutal all the time and I never had any reason to stop.

“…and I hurt people. I _really_ hurt people. A lot of people. I regret all of it every single day, but there’s no way to change it. I can’t make it better. No one can make it better. I wish I hadn’t been that person, but it’s who I am now. I can never change that, and I can never be anyone else.”

She took in a shuddering breath and her eyes were shining with the start of tears. Martin was startled by the outcry but did the only thing he ever knew how to do. Of all the times in his life he’d been deprived of comfort, Martin had never been one to withhold it from others. He put a hand on her shoulder, firm, and pulled her down to sit on the sand with him. Daisy steadied her breathing and leaned into his touch where he rubbed small circles into her shoulder.

“It’s why Basira and I are retiring. I went to counseling. I was tired of being so bloodthirsty all the time. I took a step back. I calmed down and got a bit of perspective. I was happier, but then Basira accused me of going soft. I was a more useful detective to her before. It was only after I convinced her to come to counseling with me that we got better. We’re getting out so we can just focus on being together-not just working together. It took so much work to get this far and there’s still so much we work through every day.

“But I’m only here because I wanted to put in that work. Jon just wants to be cold and distant and alone and he’s treating you like shit. You shouldn’t put up with it.”

“Daisy, its ok,” he consoled. “I’ve known Jon a while now. This weekend hasn’t been a dream, but it hasn’t been entirely unexpected either.”

“It’s not ok!” Her anger flared again, bursting from her volcanically, and then she took a deep breath and went limp. There was a long pause where she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tight around them and looked out at the ocean, lost in thought. “I look at the way Jon’s acting, and I just think how much sooner I could have turned my life around had someone just helped me-if someone had stopped me and forced me to look at how I was destroying myself and hurting everyone around me. How many people would have been ok if someone had just stopped me. But…if someone had tried to do that…I don’t know if I would have even listened. Maybe you can only change when you’re ready to.”

They stayed like that for some time. Martin kept his arm gently wrapped around her shoulders and they watched the horizon together. Behind them, the sun sank lower into the sky. The day was drawing to a close.

“You said something about a projector?”

“Right.” She let out a breath Martin could tell she’d been holding for some time. “Georgie brought some board games. Basira and I brought a movie projector. Thought it might be nice to have some fun together on our last night here. We should join them.”

She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Martin. He was reminded of her strength as she effortlessly and gracefully pulled him to his feet.

“I don’t know how often he tells you, or if he ever does, but he actually cares about you,” she insisted. “No excuse to act the way he’s been, but I thought you should know.”

Martin stifled a bitter laugh. What a worthless band-aid that was. Jon could go and tell Daisy he cared but couldn’t even bother with a genuine apology. Sure, he’d said he was sorry when they’d met at the car, but it was worthless. All of lunch he’d sat silently, brushing off attempts at conversation and pushing his food around the plate. If Jon was really sorry for being distant and rude then he wasn’t showing it very well. If Jon really cared about him…

As the two of them got inside, they were greeted convivially by the others. Daisy put her smile back on. It felt genuine. Martin denied the various drinks he was offered with and settled in next to Melanie around a board game that looked overly complex. Dozens of plastic pieces and paper slips were organized across the board and Georgie read aloud from a rules handout that unfolded to nearly the same size as the table they were sat at.

After the second read through, they all seemed to have a better grasp on the mechanics and Martin felt far more relaxed. Pieces moved slowly across the board, resources were gathered, traded, and sacrificed, and his fight with Jon this morning faded from his mind. Melanie formed an alliance with Georgie and quickly abandoned it at the first sign of an advantage, causing a comedic squabble and a round of laughs from the rest of them. Georgie teamed up with Martin instead, but they were still unable to pull ahead of Basira and Daisy’s allied forces.

As things were coming to a head, they all turned their heads at the sound of the door opening. Jon stood, analyzing his surroundings and uncertain of his next move. He avoided Martin’s gaze as he looked around the room.

“Come on in,” Melanie encouraged. “You can team up with me so maybe we have a hope of beating these insufferable bastards.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t sold me out you and I could’ve been winning,” Georgie joked, nudging her with an elbow.

As the argument began anew, Martin flicked his head, indicating for Jon to come in. He was hesitant as he came inside and situated himself between Martin and Melanie. Melanie was rehashing some old argument about cheating and mariokart and Georgie handed over a player token for Jon as she listened and then offered her rebuttal. Basira divvied up the game currency and gave a condensed explanation of the rules. All the while, Jon made himself as compact as possible.

Eventually, the game naturally divided into Basira against everyone else. They all paused for Basira and Daisy to head into town and get pizza for everyone. There was a strange feeling of expectation in the air around them. Melanie and Georgie looked at Martin as if giving him another cue they’d discussed the night before. Their plans never made it this far.

Instead of compensating once again for Jon’s strained behavior, Martin made a lame excuse about forgetting something at the dock earlier and excused himself. No one followed. Thank god.

Martin took a few deep breaths and took in everything from the weekend. The past several months had steadily built up his confidence that perhaps he and Jon could be good friends. He never expected for Jon to return his feelings, but it was nice at least to be friends. Then they came out here and all of that progress had crumbled away.

He waited until he could hear the crunch of Daisy’s truck tires on the gravel before going back. Martin would stick to his promise. Act as normal as possible, do just enough to make the lie convincing, go home, and then act like none of this ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a late update tonight! Was ready to publish this morning and was struck with inspiration for a couple things to add to this chapter, so here we are! 
> 
> Also, my computer decided to shut down randomly in the middle of writing chapter 6 and 7 and I lost literally all of my progress. Right now, I think I'll be able to get them out on time, but thanks ahead for your patience if I don't! It was a pretty big motivation killer to have 15 pages vanish just like that, but your guys' kind words keep me going!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this was hard to write! (and not just because my computer ate the first draft) this chapter is a lot of jon utterly failing at navigating his own emotions and facing the consequences of his actions

Jon fell to his knees, collecting the book from where Martin had discarded it in the damp earth. He was receding in the distance and Jon wanted nothing more than to run after him. He couldn’t.

This morning, he’d woken to the sound of his car door being wrenched open, Daisy taking a fistful of his shirt and shaking him awake. Her reprimands were cold, unrelenting in her assault as she verbally tore him limb from limb. Her intimidation last night had only been a primer for the true devastation she rained down on him then, but there was no sense in protesting. There was no sense in fighting it. She was right.

Regardless, he was numb to it.

Some idiotic, hopeful, optimistic part of himself had thought he could fix things when Martin invited him on that walk. His train of thought had been an unstoppable maelstrom of finding just the perfect way of saying sorry, of telling Martin how much he appreciated his friendship, and telling him about the feelings Daisy had helped him to uncover. Martin would reject him. Of course he would. Jon was a wretched, unlovable, nightmare of a person, but Martin would appreciate his honesty. Jon would give him the book and they would be happy for the friendship they shared.

What a stupid idea that had been.

He was too busy thinking about his plans to actually commit to them. Unintentionally, he was ignoring Martin again, the exact wrongdoing he had set out to amend. Then, when Martin brought things to the point of confrontation, Jon fumbled. He said things the wrong way, in the wrong order and made everything worse. He only made Martin more upset. The book came too early. It didn’t appear as a symbol of friendship the way it was meant to, it came across as a means of appeasement, an idiotic attempt at silencing Martin’s feelings with a material object.

So instead, Jon knelt in the dirt, clutching the book to his chest and watched until he could see Martin no longer. Presented to himself was the temptation to rip the pages from its hardbound spine, to crush the literary betrayal beneath his heel and grind it into the mud. But he couldn’t. These poet’s words and the emotions conjured in verse within were not the ones that betrayed him.

The rain pelting him from above caused a deep, withering cold to settle into his bones, despair along with it. Martin’s jacket served as the only barrier between him and the elements as he made his slow, deliberate trudge back to the cabin. Even now, even at the greatest moment of strife between them, Martin was still taking care of him. Jon knew he didn’t deserve it, and it made him feel sick.

The cabin was dark and empty when he got back. This was certainly no surprise. Jon didn’t anticipate that anyone would actually be there, but it was so strange to be here all alone. Even when he isolated himself intentionally the evening before, the others were nearby, the sound of their joy broadcast through the air. Now he was well and truly alone, alone in a place meant to be filled with companionship and happiness and memories to be made.

What was he even doing here?

It ate at him. This question was not why he had agreed to come. This question was not why he had invited Martin. This question was what the hell was he doing now that he was here. He could see himself unraveling the progress he had so carefully woven together and felt helpless to stop himself. His intentions had been good, but life never cared for Jon’s intentions.

He drifted through the main room of the cabin as his mind took over. Methodically, he set about composing himself. The dirt was brushed from his pants and off his shoes. He ran a comb through his hair and arranged it back into its low ponytail. The jacket came last. It pained him to part with this gesture of kindness, but it was a consequence he forced himself to accept. He tucked it away in his duffel bag until he could return it to Martin.

Waiting for Martin on the porch step of the cabin, he willed his tears not fall. He could feel the sensation bubbling up in him, his eyes stinging, his throat closing up, his hands trembling. Jon was not someone who cried. He would not mourn over his own mistakes.

He tried to apologize one last time when Martin finally appeared, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it. Jon deserved that. After a weekend of ignoring Martin and acting harshly towards him as some insecure backlash of his own epiphany, he didn’t deserve having Martin listen to him. For some reason, Martin still granted him the concession of pretending to be together. At lunch, he held his hand and talked about experiences he’d had as if Jon had shared in them. It made Jon all the more miserable that this was the closest he would ever be to that reality.

Along with many a great deal of situations this weekend, it became too much for him to bear. He fled. It would only make Martin more upset at him, he knew that, but he had nothing left to lose.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was at the doorstep of the bookshop. The old woman from before was there, same as before, turning the page of a weathered tome with a pleasant, dreamy expression on her face. Jon approached her, a hollow feeling in his chest, his words echoing as if they were coming from someone else and begged her to take the book back. He didn’t need his money back. He didn’t _want_ his money back. He just wanted to be rid of this book.

There was something so gentle and nurturing in her expression as she took his hands in her own. Hers was a look he had hoped to find from his grandmother so many times in his childhood and never seen. Comfort. Understanding. Sympathy. Compassion. He was reminded of the feeling that this trip was only meant to show him all that he would never have. _Look what you didn’t know you were without_ , he was being told.

That heavy, overwhelming feeling from their first meeting returned. Jon couldn’t fathom the way it seemed she knew more about him than even he did. He hadn’t even told her his name. All the same, she directed her warmth toward him without hesitation. Keep the book, she’d insisted, he would find a way to give it to that friend of his when the time was right.

Martin wasn’t at the car when he returned. Good. He deserved to spend his time with the others where he’d be happier. Anywhere Martin was without him, he’d be happier. Jon composed himself for just long enough to drive to some dusty, secluded backroad and park. He took in one wavering breath. Released it.

Took in another.

And then it all came crashing in on him. Like a levee failing, all of the guilt and denial and pain washed over him at once. Jon was not someone who cried, yet here he was, hands gripping the top of the steering wheel, forehead pressed between them. There would be no right time. There never was for him.

The rest of the night had been unremarkable. It took time for him to pull himself back together and return to the cabin. It was enough of a personal betrayal to have cried, to have the others know it would strip him of whatever shred of dignity he had left. So, he waited until the tears dried, the tremble in his shoulders subsided, and his breathing came naturally again. All he had to do now was pretend everything was fine, just like Martin said.

He took a deep breath and opened the cabin door. There they all were. Together. Enjoying their time without him. Martin was a stranger to him again and Jon was on the outside. He played along with the festivities to the best of his ability and tried to give Martin the distance he deserved.

Jon stayed in the cabin that night. He had no interest in reigniting Daisy’s rage. Instead, he laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the hours to tick by, waiting for his heart to stop breaking.

The shadows on the walls of the cabin began to creep. The endearing coziness of this room had been replaced by a quiet terror. Everything was too close, too cluttered, looming and waiting for Jon to make his next mistake. It felt like each misstep he’d made over the weekend was etched into every detail of the room. There was the kiss, stamped into a framed illustration of the ocean. Buying that book was ingrained onto a wooden shelf. Sitting on the porch, avoiding Martin was printed into the wallpaper. Sleeping in the car the night before was scuffed into the threadbare rug in the entryway. It was all around him, reminding him of his perpetual failure.

The shadows crept further, growing stretched and distorted, ghoulish. But they were just shadows on the wall. The only thing in this room posing danger to Jon was himself. He sat up in a cross-legged position. Sleep was hopeless at this point, not that it had been anything he’d hoped for that night.

Ephemeral as mornings tended to be, the light shifted into a warm glow and put a soft edge to everything. The room was cast in gold now, and Jon did his best not to notice the way it lit up Martin’s face. He kept himself from gazing at the way his curls caught the light, almost painting-like, the way his freckles looked like constellations fading away on a dawning morning. He shoved it all away. This was not his sight to behold.

Quiet as he could, he removed the days’ clothes from his bag and went to the bathroom, his eyes avoiding the mirror as he showered and changed. On Friday morning, Martin chuckling at his austere wardrobe choice hadn’t escaped his notice. Centuries ago that seemed like now.

Considering that today would consist almost solely of driving back to London, Jon had packed something far more casual, a long-sleeve band shirt, a flannel, an old pair of ripped jeans. He thought to himself how nice it would be if Martin would notice that, too, but brushed the thought away as soon as it came to him. Selfish, stupid, wrong.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, he could see Martin through the rear window, sitting on the patio with Basira. There was no cup of tea left waiting for him this time, only the vacant bed. How lonely it felt now to be folding it up himself, not to have Martin there with him, laughing and smiling as they worked together. Just another lonely ending. Jon busied himself with packing, tucking away the small number of odds and ends he’d brought along and preparing for their departure.

It wasn’t long before Daisy came down the stairs. For a long time, she took in the view, looking back and forth between where Jon packed and where Martin sat with Basira. Her expression became more dour the longer she watched. Finally, she strode forward, grabbing Jon by the elbow and dragging him into the kitchen, out of sight of the back porch.

She put her hands on his shoulders, pulled him in close and made an attempt at eye contact that he failed to oblige. “Jon, what are you doing?”

He extracted himself limply. “I was just getting my things together.

“No-Jon,” she sighed, her brows pulled together in anguish. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Surviving?”

The answer hung in the air between them, waiting for a response that would never arrive. And then Daisy’s arms were around him, gentle but strong. She wasn’t just embracing him. She was holding him together. He wanted to sink into that feeling. It was rare that anyone went out of their way to care for him so overtly. For a short time, he’d had someone willing to put in that effort, but that was gone now. Daisy’s affections too were unmeant to last. The comfort and peace he found in life would forever be impermanent.

Daisy sighed, and turned to the fridge, bringing out a carton of eggs. “You’ll get through this, Jon. I promise. Now, toast some bread, will you?”

He followed her instruction, feeling like a ghost of himself as he moved the bread from the toaster to the plate Daisy had set aside for the task. She kept an eye on him as she scrambled the eggs, this time far less like a child minder and more so like the warden of psychiatric unit. Concerned, observant.

The back door creaked, signaling Basira and Martin’s entrance. Basira went to Daisy, kissing her on the cheek before leaving to get changed upstairs. Martin drifted through the living room, grabbing a change of clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. All the while, Jon moved bread from the toaster to the plate, wishing he could be far away from this place already.

Breakfast passed like a blur. The six of them arranged in the living room same as they had the two days before. Chewing quietly, occasionally chatting, exchanging pleasantries. Jon took in none of it. When he was done with his plate, he rose without prompting, gathered his things and went to the car. It was the only thing that Martin would speak to him about last night. They would finish breakfast and then get on the road. No point in dragging this out.

The rest of them came out as Jon closed the boot. They assembled themselves near the porch, talking fondly about the fun they’d had, how they should do this again, what a lovely place the cabin was. Jon leaned against the car, arms crossed, tuning it all out, and waiting to get on the road.

His distracted brooding was suddenly interrupted by Georgie slamming her full bodyweight against him in a violent hug, bringing the weekend to a point of perfect symmetry.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “I know this was hard for you, Jon, but don’t worry. Things will get better.”

Before he could offer some bitter, jaded response she ran off to rejoin the group, waving at him as she went. He was turned to get into the driver’s seat when Melanie surprised him by yanking on his sleeve, pulling him into a hug of her own. Jon caught Daisy’s eye as his chin came to perch on Melanie’s shoulder. The confusion must have been painted on his face plain as day, considering Daisy’s amused smile and the thumbs up she flashed him, a gesture which the others took no notice of.

Melanie pulled away but took a fistful of Jon’s flannel and shook him lightly. “I’m sorry we fought so much, Jon, but you’re actually kinda cool when you’re not doing your moody academic schtick! Georgie and I are thinking of doing regular game nights and you and Martin should definitely come.”

Once again, before he could offer a response she shot off. The five of them exchanged their final goodbyes with a few interspersed hugs. Jon ached, seeing the way Martin laughed with them, talked so easily with them. The things the two of them would never share.

As they pulled away and drove down the winding road to get back to London, any trace of contentment in Martin faded away to nothing. He slumped in his seat, arms folded against his chest, angled towards the window. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have the heart to try anymore.

“Music?” Jon attempted at one point, unable to muster any enthusiasm.

“I think I prefer the quiet right now,” Martin replied with a matching dreariness.

So they drove on. Silent despite all that was left unsaid between them. Alone despite their proximity.

Around lunchtime, Jon pulled into a village. Martin wasted no time in leaving the car, saying something over his shoulder about taking a walk, needing some fresh air, be back soon. Again, Jon watched him go, watched him walk away up the block and turn the corner, out of sight. Without him. He thought of Thursday night, sitting on a picnic bench with Martin, talking to one another like old friends, looking forward to the trip, feeling relaxed for the first time in months.

Jon didn’t eat much to begin with, but the melancholy made his appetite nonexistent. He stayed in the car, unmoving. He didn’t even bother to unbuckle his seat belt. Martin got back some time later, no different than how he’d left. Jon got back on the road without a word.

As they got closer to London, Martin gave Jon directions as was necessary. He had a new flat. Jon didn’t know. All that time he’d spent sneaking around, spying, monitoring his employees every move, and now he didn’t even know that Martin had moved. Was it because of Prentiss? Was it because of _him_? Not important. It didn’t matter anymore.

Jon knew this was his last chance to make things right. He pulled into the parking lot, a space which seemed to have too few spaces for the number of tenants. The building itself was foreboding, a dismal gray color with narrow, darkened, barred-off windows. Jon could see a fluorescent light flickering in the entryway. It pained him to think of Martin, so bright and optimistic, living in this dingy, colorless place.

But what could he do? What could he say that he hadn’t already tried to? What could he say that would make Martin believe the regret he felt?

Nothing.

Martin grabbed his things and left. He said nothing. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t look over his shoulder or wave. Jon watched for the last time as Martin left and disappeared out of sight.

Going home wasn’t an option. There was nothing waiting for him there. Going back to his flat would just trap him in an eternal spiral of self-pity and depression, so he went the only other place left for him. The institute. The archive would always be there for him, waiting to welcome him back into its embrace. There would always be more work to get done or another mystery to solve. The archive would keep his mind from the plague of worry he’d created and give him the purpose and meaning he needed.

He’d recorded five? No. Seven statements when he bothered to check the clock. It was nearing four in the morning and the only reason he’d bothered to stop was the growing haziness at the edge of his vision. Then again, if it was already this early there was no point in getting any real sleep. The cot in storage beckoned to him, but pain swallowed his heart at the thought of it still holding traces of Martin, of one of Martin’s sleep shirts still bunched up under the pillow.

Instead, he went to the breakroom and put on the kettle. He would make some tea to tide him over until the good coffee shop nearby opened and he could get something stronger. It wouldn’t be as good as Martin’s tea. No matter how well Jon made it, it would never be as good.

It was as the kettle boiled that Jon heard it. There, coming from the trapdoor into the tunnels. Even from the breakroom, he knew it emanated from there. A sound like heavy, skittering footsteps. Like an enormous, many-legged insect. Then another sound like an enormous grinding, scraping, thing. The first more consistent, the second intermittent.

Jon shook his head and turned off the boiling kettle. Just his mind playing tricks on him. It was late and his mind was just suffering exhaustion induced hallucinations, nothing more. And then it happened again, louder. Like whatever insect sound he’d heard before letting out some monstrous cry. Not a hallucination. Jon raced to his office and grabbed a torch.

Standing at the locked trapdoor, his hands shook with anticipation more than fear. He had a tape recorder gripped in one hand, the torch in the other, and a spare in the pocket of the brown, suede jacket he wore. It may have been another figment of his imagination, but he could swear the door was pulsing as the sounds grew louder and louder. It pulsed in his ears and drummed in his chest. The sound devoured him.

Determined, he threw open the door, racing down the steps, ready to face whatever was down here. He swung his torch wildly back and forth, but now he could only hear the spooling of the tape recorder. It was like a vacuum. Silent. He raced further ahead, following his chalk lines, desperate to find the source of the sounds that before had been near deafening.

Now there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only sound joining the tape recorder was his own heaving breath. He followed the chalk markings further and further still, pivoting wildly at any sound. But there were no crawling insectoid legs, no scraping of stone against stone, no scream, no chase. Nothing.

He raced through the tunnels wildly now. Not even bothering to look for his markings. Gertrude’s room was where he was headed now, and he needed no assistance to find it. He had returned so many times, turned the room upside down in hope of any clues, that he could find it better than his own flat. Jon kept going, kept following the route he knew would get him there, but it was gone. No matter which turns he took, which corridors he continued along, he ended up back at the trapdoor.

No. He went back, deeper this time. This time. This time he would find her. This time he would find an answer to something, _anything._ He kept going, knowing he was being sent in circles by whatever thing was down here, but unwilling to give up. He was close. He knew it. One more turn and there would be Gertrude’s room. One more turn. And then.

Then he was back at the steps leading to the trapdoor.

This time, when he turned to sprint away once more, he was met with a solid, stone wall. There had been no sound to signal its arrival. It was just there when a moment ago it hadn’t been.

The message was clear whether he liked it or not.

Jon secured the latch over the trapdoor. The sounds did not return even then. Without even returning to his office to grab his things or shut off his desk lamp, he dumped the torch and tape recorders onto the shelves in the room with the trapdoor and got a taxi home. Whatever questions the tunnels were concealing, he would not be answering them tonight.

The next morning, he arrived at the institute caffeinated beyond any advisable levels and prepared with the perfect plan for talking to Martin. It would work this time because this time he already had a plan. He would wait until lunch time, invite him out, and explain everything, wrapping up with an adequate apology. No book. Honesty would be his best recourse even if it pained him. Jon reminded himself that this wasn’t about him; it was about Martin.

He left his office door open, a habit he’d ended long ago. When he first became the head archivist, his door was only closed when recording statements. As each passing day left him further entrenched in his work, he left his office door closed more frequently. Now, it was open. If Martin had any inclination towards coming to him first, Jon wanted to limit the obstacles between them as much as possible. For so long he’d been fashioning barriers between himself and all that he desired, some barriers he himself didn’t even know about, and it was time to dismantle them.

He waited. He never stuck to any task for too long. Any noise, any disturbance, immediately drew his attention to his doorway, hoping for Martin. It was never him. From time to time, he strained his eyes, attempting to look across the archives to the assistants’ desks, trying to see what they were up to. It provided him no hints, but the sight was a comfort of its own.

Finally, after what felt like days, the clock was nearing noon, an acceptable enough time to propose a lunch outing. His foot had tapped in anticipation the entire morning, and the anxious energy transformed into a trembling hand as he made his way over to the rest of the archival staff.

Martin wasn’t there.

Jon steadied his breathing as he approached. Martin was likely just in the breakroom making tea. Sasha and Tim, usually so chipper, were silent and focused on their respective monitors. Had Jon not been so nervous, he would have noted the rare lack of tomfoolery.

“Where’s Martin,” he asked, affecting nonchalant curiosity.

Tim drew his knee up his chest, planting his foot on the edge of his seat and letting out a sarcastic huff. “Like you care,” he muttered.

Sasha looked anxiously from Tim to Jon, chewing at the corner of her mouth. “He said something about going to do some follow up, Jon. Not sure when he’ll be back. Said it might be pretty involved.”

“It wasn’t for statement on the Trophy Room, was it? I told you all not to –”

“Something else, boss,” Tim said, sounding equal parts annoyed and distracted. “Just doing his job. Thought that’d get you off his case.”

Jon didn’t quite know how to respond to such a remark. “Oh…alright, then.”

With his hope extinguished, a splitting migraine besieged him on the return to his office. As the afternoon extended before him, his vision blurred and fatigue overtook him. His body was catching up with him.

Jon could tell himself that he didn’t need much in the way of rest or food, but that didn’t mean he could go _completely_ without. It hadn’t been since before Martin’s first run-in with Prentiss that he’d had anything approaching a good night’s sleep, but he’d barely slept at all since last Monday when he first asked Martin to go on the trip.

Ever the professional, Jon waited until the end of business hours to leave. This was mostly out of some hope that Martin might return, and he would still be able to salvage something of his plan. When Martin failed to make a return appearance, Jon rose from his desk and gathered his things. He caught site of Tim and Sasha nearly gawking at him while he locked up his office. It made sense. Leaving this early was a rare sight for him. However, he was in no mood to answer for himself. He gave them both a curt wave and left the archives.

His night was uneventful, but he was able to get a meager amount of sleep. He passed the hours at home much the same way he had at the archive that day, flitting back and forth between any number of tasks, dedicating fully to none of them. His complex still paid for cable, and he made an attempt at watching television, but nothing was satisfying enough to stay on it for very long. When his winding journey through channel after channel found him face to face with some soap opera in which two characters were sobbing and confessing their love, he turned it off entirely in favor of the work he’d brought home.

A new plan formed. If Martin was going to leave early in the name of follow up, Jon would just catch him the moment he got to work. Well, not the _exact_ moment. That would be overwhelming. Even Jon with his extreme lack of social awareness knew that. He would leave his office door open again, wait until he saw Martin enter, wait five to ten minutes, and then go over to invite him out for a cup of coffee. The rest of the plan was the same. Explain himself without offering excuses, apologize completely for making Martin’s weekend so miserable, and then give Martin the space to respond to that however he needed. Explanation. Apology. Space. Martin deserved that. If he would just let Jon give it.

So he waited again. He sat in his office, eyes fixed on the stairs leading into the archives. He hadn’t even put down his bag or taken off his jacket. When Martin arrived, he would be ready.

There was Sasha. And then Tim. Jon checked the time. 9:15. Late. Martin was never late. Jon had (unfairly) criticized many aspects of Martin’s performance early on in their time working together, but he had never been able to fault him on punctuality. This was unusual but, considering the circumstances, not unfounded. So he waited. And waited. And waited. He checked the time again. 10:30.

Perhaps Martin was in some other area of the institute. Jon went to artifact storage to check. And then he went to the Library. And then research. He checked anywhere he thought Martin might feasibly be but found nothing. It was only then that he returned to the archive, beelining for Tim and Sasha after finding the breakroom empty.

“Have either of you seen Martin,” he asked, this time entirely unable to keep the concern from his voice.

Sasha shot him a warning look and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

“Sure,” Tim replied, his scowl unmoving from where it was fixed on his monitor.

“Where is he, then,” Jon asked, hackles rising in response to Tim’s callous attitude.

“Why’s it any of your business?”

“Jon-”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Jon snarled. “I am your boss and it is precisely my business to know where my employees are at.”

Tim got up from his seat, turning to Jon with unfettered malice. “Is that it, then,” he spat, volume rising as he spoke. “That’s all we are? Pawns for you to keep tabs on?”

Sasha also got up, trying desperately to intercept. “Tim, don’t-”

“I have no patience for this insubordination, Tim.”

“Right, boss. Sorry for my _insubordination_. Just so I’m clear, is it also your business then to treat us so fucking abysmally?”

Jon stepped forward to meet him. “I’ll have you know-”

“GUYS!”

Sasha inserted herself in the now diminished gap between them, placed a hand on either of their chests and shoved them apart. Her seething, disciplining expression was enough to temper them both, if only slightly.

“Tim,” she said, glowering removing the hand that was on Jon’s chest to admonish him. “This isn’t your fight. Martin can deal with his own problems and if you have something to be upset with Jon about you need to stop hiding behind Martin for it.”

Tim took a step backwards and sat back in his chair, turning his face away. He mumbled something under his breath. The statement was enough to appease Sasha as she then turned her attention on Jon.

“Jon. I have no idea what the hell is going on between you and Martin, but I know it’s not good after this weekend. Figure. It. Out.”

“I’m trying,” he tried, but was cut off before he could explain further.

“No. I don’t want to hear it. Martin’s sick. That’s it. Knock it off.”

“Sick?”

Jon was certain Sasha must have said something to answer him. She still looked at him, arms crossed over her chest in quiet fury. He heard none of it. A million thoughts passed through his mind all at once, of a text from Martin letting him know he wouldn’t be coming in due to a stomach bug, of Martin trapped in his apartment, of Martin, pale and terrified but determined to give his statement on Jane Prentiss, of Martin sleeping in the archives because it was simply too dangerous for him to be anywhere else.

Jon stumbled back to his office, head spinning and heart racing. In a panicked daze, he gathered his things and fumbled with his keys. He wouldn’t let Martin be alone again.

It wasn’t until he ran into Tim that Jon even registered that he was standing in the doorway. He took a step back, startled, and then tried again in vain to press past him.

“What are you doing,” Tim asked, tone grim.

“I’m going out.”

“Tell me.”

Jon shouldered him, feeling desperation clawing at him like a wild animal in a cage. “I’m going to find Martin.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

Suddenly, Jon was slammed against the wall of his office. In one rough, instantaneous motion, Tim had grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pinned him. There was a moment where they looked into one another, rage blistering in the air between them. That same wild animal looked back at Jon through Tim’s eyes. There was something dangerous and wounded and terrified in them both.

Jon braced himself for further assault. There was no doubt that it was what Tim wanted, and even less that he deserved it. Then, the fury in Tim vanished, grief replacing it. He let out a sigh as he released Jon and stepped away. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and sank into the chair at Jon’s desk.

“Sasha sent me to apologize,” he whispered.

Jon’s answer was just as quiet. “You don’t have to.”

“We thought the same thing as you, you know. He texted us this morning and we got all nervous, so we went to check on him. Everything’s fine. Just sick.”

He slid down the wall until he seated on the floor, knees tucked up against his chest. “Just sick,” he echoed.

Neither of them looked at the other. The quiet wove its way around them. They were worlds apart.

It was Tim that broke the silence by taking in a long, deep breath, considering carefully what he was about to say. “She’s right. I need to let Martin deal with his own problems, and I need to deal with mine. I know Sasha made us go over all this before. I know she made us say sorry and all that. Said I was over it but I’m not, I guess. It’s just that…you’re different, Jon. Even if you don’t _blame me_ anymore, you’re still treating us all like hell while you sit in here, all alone, and work out your little mystery. And if any of us even thinks to check in on you, or ask you a question, or give you an update in person, you snap at us like we’re criminals. This place, Jon. It’s eating you alive. And I think you want it to. Even if it means you lose the rest of us.” Tim got up to leave but paused at the door. He looked out at the archive. “Even if it means you lose yourself.”

Tim had the decency to close the door on his way out. Alone, truly alone, Jon curled up against the wall and let the world move on without him. His only indication of any passing time was the steady ticking of the analogue clock on the wall above him. His office, which before seemed like a wild mystery to comb through, tend to, decipher from, was suffocating him. Every familiarity he came to appreciate turned on him eventually. The documents, the paperwork, the statements wrapped around him now like a noose. When he turned to find the hangman responsible for his demise, he was met with his reflection. It was too late to step off the platform. The rope around his neck was already in place. He had no choice other than to play his part.

Then, there it was. That sound. Audible now from his office. Something moving. Something crawling. Something whispering now. Unignorable. Beckoning to him. Needing him. Only he could find it.

The archive was dark as he followed the sound from his office to the tunnels. Whatever time it was now didn’t matter. The torches were still on the shelf where he’d left them and just as before, the trapdoor shook violently.

His hand was certain. It was up to him to find whatever was down here and get to it before it got to anyone else. It was the only good he could do. He abandoned hesitation and opened the door with all his might.

Then he woke up.

He was in his flat. How had he gotten to his flat? When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been here?

His back screamed in pain as he lifted his head from his pathetic excuse of a dining room table. It was littered with statements, pieces of evidence, and scribbled notes. The remnants of a crazed obsession. His laptop screen was the sole light source in the room, casting a cold, digital glow on everything. Doing his best to return any feeling to his limbs, he grasped desperately at any memory of how the previous day had transpired

The chime of a notification from his laptop interrupted his investigation. The sound was his alert to any work emails. Strange. Four in the morning again, the clock told him. Who would be sending emails to him this late?

Elias.

_Changes to Archival Staff: Effective Immediately_ the subject line read. Jon opened it. He read it. Then read it again. And again.

_Jon,_

_The Institute has recently been contracted by the Lukas Family to record, research, and follow up with a specific subset of statements. As you are aware, the Lukas Family has a history of making substantial contributions to our organization, and we will be accommodating the work outlined in this contract to the best of our ability._

_This will have limited impact on the daily proceedings of your current operations. The Lukas Family wishes to maintain privacy and exercise discretion in this endeavour, and with the funds they have provided, we will be employing a member of their family as the overseer of this operation: Peter Lukas. His name is no doubt recognizable to you at this point. As a means of aiding in his research, Martin Blackwood will be reassigned as his new assistant. Until further notice, he will be unable to assist in normal operations in your archive. Additionally, in order to maintain the requested privacy, all work done by Mr. Lukas and Mr. Blackwood will be taking place in an area of the Institute separate from the archive._

_Thank you in advance for your understanding. Do let me know if you have need to hire a new assistant as we certainly have the funds for it now._

_Elias Bouchard_

Jon got out his phone and immediately went to message Martin. He stared at the screen for a long time, trying and failing to find anything to say. There was no point to it. Nothing he could say would change what was happening. Something in him knew that this wasn’t mere coincidence, that Martin must have requested this change. It couldn’t be chance that he’d already been avoiding Jon and was now being reassigned. Martin didn’t even want to work with him anymore.

Then he heard it again. Those sounds. But that didn’t make sense, _couldn’t_ make sense. Jon was in his flat, miles from the institute. He lived on the sixth floor, the only thing below him were other people’s living spaces. Nonetheless, there it was. Calling for him again.

There was no question to it. Like someone possessed, he pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and went after the sound. He followed it, always somewhere in the distance ahead of him, just close enough that he always found the way.

In the dark, a blue dawn lurked at the edge of the horizon, illuminating his way to the archives. Jon scaled the steps of the institute, focused only on the sounds, now like a thundering pulse in his ear. He followed them, down the old stairs into the darkened archive. He followed the sounds to the trapdoor. Door still latched. Sound still reverberating. Tape recorder and torch still on the shelf.

Here. He followed it here. Always here.

His hands were steady, unshaking, unyielding. Prepared. He undid the lock, opened the door, and descended the stairs. Had Jon any ability to think for himself at the moment, he would have considered that perhaps his dream was prophetic. Perhaps he would open that door and find the smooth, stone wall still blocking his way.

He turned the torch to his now silent surroundings. Ahead of him was a tunnel, stretching away as far as he could see. He had nothing left to lose. He followed the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're officially nearing the end, folks! everything's gonna turn out fine, we just have to get through some emotional pain first :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being patient with me as i took the time to get this chapter where i wanted it, i hope you enjoy :)

_MARTIN:_

_Hey do u still have my spare charger_

_TIM:_

_uhhhhhhhh_

Martin prayed the answer would be quick and that it would be “yes.” He was in the midst of a terrible date, one amongst many others in recent history. The guy was nice enough, but he was bland, and he never shut the hell up. In the hour and a half they’d been sitting here at dinner, he’d asked Martin two questions. Even then, his questions felt more like precursors to centering the conversation back on himself. If he had to listen to the guy go on for even five more minutes about his and Paula’s prank war with Steve in accounting, he might lose it.

As his date carried on about his preference in bagel brands and how those preferences changed based on the flavor of bagel, Martin checked his phone again, not bothering with discretion.

_TIM:_

_so don’t hate me_

_still have it_

_but, bad news_

_its in my desk at the institute_

“Everything alright,” his date asked, taking the bill from the waiter. Well, at least Martin wasn’t paying for this one.

He didn’t look up from his phone, texting Tim as he responded to his date. “Yeah uh,” he said, distracted. “Just a work emergency. They think someone’s broken in.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah, sorry. Looks like I’ll have to go take care of it. It was nice meeting you, though.”

His date stood at the same time he did and reached out, falling short of actually touching him. “I could go with you. I don’t mind! I was thinking after dinner maybe we could go back to my place and watch-”

“Sorry, can’t,” Martin refused, reaching now for reasons to put the guy off. “My job has pretty strict security clearances and, uh-and I’d hate to make you wait, you know. Might be a long night sorting out the mess. Might take a while.”

Martin inexpertly dodged a hug in favor of a handshake. He could feel the artifice of his own smile as he gave the guy a nod, turned on his heel, and bolted.

Ugh. He was getting tired of striking out. Was it London? Was that the problem? Was he the problem? Sasha _had_ joked that he was being a little too picky with his romantic prospects. If she were here now, she would prod at him and tell him to relax. It’s just a first date, she would say. The guy was probably just talking too much to compensate for his nerves. Why should you give up now?

She would be right, but he didn’t care. There was no way he was going out with that guy again.

Imagining Sasha’s lecture conjured an image of Peter, chiding him again for distracting himself with meaningless connections. Ever since he’d requested the transfer to a different department and been given the assignment with Peter, he’d been told repeatedly how important this new work was. Peter was constantly trying to convince him to abandon “personal attachments” as a means of improving his work ethic. Martin didn’t see how cutting off his friends and deleting dating apps would help him read the gloomy statements Peter was giving him. It was kind of like working for a cult leader he didn’t believe in.

Somehow, Peter always knew when he’d been socializing, and Martin would no doubt receive an earful about it on Monday. Peter wanted him to believe in some mysterious threat and an even more mysterious cause that he also refused to explain. Every statement that came across Martin’s desk entailed some form of looming catastrophe, but beyond that Martin had no idea what he was meant to be gleaning from the material. If he raised that complaint with Peter, he was just reminded about his “dependence” on social relationships. Whatever.

Although, the exponentially growing rate of failure in his romantic prospects _was_ threatening to make him Peter’s ideal employee after all. Maybe things _would_ be easier if he just gave up. Maybe if he focused more on work than his depressing social life, he’d feel a bit more fulfilled. If he didn’t have Sasha and Tim to hang out with and cheer him up, he might have already given into that hopelessness. Thank god they were there for him.

Martin hadn’t actually been into the archives since he’d been reassigned nearly three months ago. The office he now shared with Peter was on the second floor of the Institute, and he rarely had reason to leave it. Every morning when he arrived, all of his work was neatly arranged on his desk with specific instructions for executing it. With the complete lack of distractions, it was never more than could be handled in a typical day.

He still had a key to the archive stairwell. “Just in case,” Elias had said with an unsettling wink. Opening the heavy, metal door, he was a bit surprised to see the lights still on and Jon’s office door wide open. Then again, he remembered Sasha and Tim mentioning that Jon rarely left the archive these days.

Shit. If Jon really was here, hopefully he was too distracted with work to notice Martin sneaking in and getting his phone charger back. Reaching for his phone this morning, he’d knocked it off his nightstand. It had landed right on the cable and bent the charger to a terminal 90 degrees. The spare he’d loaned to Tim was a good enough excuse to get out of a date, but he hoped it wouldn’t mean a run-in with Jon. Yet another point against his optimism.

Jon’s wasn’t in his office. On the cursory glance he took, Martin noticed the state of chaos it had descended into. Jon’s desk was never particularly tidy, but now it was piled high with scattered papers and files. The floor was cluttered with boxes. A rudimentary clearing surrounded the desk and chairs on either side.

Martin brushed it off. Jon was just settling into his role as head archivist and his regular habits were winning out over his professionalism. He was probably in the middle of some project and was more concerned with his work than organization. It happened to everyone. He tore his eyes away and carried on.

Just seeing the assistants’ desks summoned a deep sense of nostalgia. He missed getting to spend his work week with them, even when they were feeding into each other’s nonsense. There was a framed photo on Sasha’s desk of the three of them together, smiling. It had been taken only their second week in the archive, ages ago. There was another picture taped to her desktop from Jon’s birthday party.

Neither of those photos had been there before he transferred. They all looked so young. They all looked so _happy._

Being here strengthened his desire to transfer back to the archives. He’d been thinking of making the requests for weeks now. Peter was far more demanding and pushier than Jon had ever been and being by himself near constantly was starting to get to him. Peter was rarely in the office, preferring to communicate by email. The only time they ever spoke in person was for Peter to reprimand him or give him some intentionally vague hint at the meaning behind their little project. Infuriating was putting it mildly.

What made the idea of transferring all the more appealing was that his desk hadn’t even been cleared. Someone, likely Sasha, had made an attempt to arrange his things to appear more orderly. Otherwise, all of his things were exactly as he’d left them. His notebooks, the poetry book he’d been reading, his plant, the little ceramic souvenir from a childhood school trip to the Tate. It was all there and ready for him to return.

That Monday after the trip to Scotland, Martin had cleared his desk of most of his personal belongings and knick-knacks in preparation for the transfer, but he’d left enough behind to not raise anyone’s suspicion. He’d felt extreme guilt for not letting Sasha and Tim know about his plans before going through with them, but he knew they would talk him out of it. Sasha would say something about punishing himself for no reason. Tim would rant about needing to stand his ground against Jon.

Tim’s desk was in a similar state of disorganization to Jon’s, but that was typical of him. The first drawer he opened was an assemblage of pens, crumpled notes, a half-eaten packet of biscuits, and other unrelated odds and ends. The next drawer held three opened envelopes and a handful of photographs. The one on top was of Tim with what must have been his brother. Tim didn’t mention him often and got defensive if the topic ever came up. Martin realized he had never seen him before. Despite Tim’s permission to go through his desk, it felt like a betrayal to see this. Martin shut the drawer and moved on.

Success, it was in the second drawer on the right, hidden under some discarded follow up research. Martin texted Tim to confirm he’d found it and thanked him for letting him go through his desk. Now it was time to head home and wallow in self-pity over another failed date.

The fact that Jon still hadn’t made an appearance nagged at the back of his mind. He should be relieved, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling image of his open and empty office.

Martin ignored his own instincts towards self-preservation and went into Jon’s office, dodging around the clutter. Maybe he had passed out at his desk and collapsed to the floor. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if that had really happened it would at least put Martin’s fears to rest if he checked. But Jon was nowhere to be found. His computer monitor had dozens of windows opened, collaged together in a dizzying, digital menagerie. His desk was covered in photos and documents, hastily scrawled notes affixed to them with tape, or staples, or merely pinned down with makeshift paperweights. It resembled the scattered corkboard of an unhinged crime novel protagonist.

No, Martin told himself, he was absolutely not about to get involved in this. There was no room left in his life to care about whatever fixation Jon was drowning in. He went back to the archive and was within reach of the door to the stairwell when the floor vibrated jarringly beneath him. This was concerning enough by its own merit, but then the vibration changed and Martin heard a guttural scream.

It was Jon.

The tunnels. Images of them had been all over his desk, and Tim had mentioned more than once that Jon spent an inordinate amount of time exploring them. Martin had no interest in going back there, but he couldn’t leave now. He had no choice.

The trapdoor was open, resting against the wall, when he got to it. Martin wished he was the kind of heroic person who would descend into the tunnels without hesitation, run to Jon, and make sure he was safe. Martin was not that kind of person. Terror clutched at his heart as the sound of a distorted, threatening voice echoed through the tunnels and out through the trapdoor, too muffled to make out anything clearly. His hands shook as he imagined Jane Prentiss, turning to him with that rotting, infested grin and knocking for weeks on end.

If something like that was happening to Jon now, he couldn’t just walk away. No matter what had happened between them, no one deserved to be hunted. Martin pushed through the fear and willed himself forward.

The voice was clearer now. It sounded like dozens, perhaps hundreds, of voices overlapping one another, speaking in unison and each slightly off beat with the rest. Martin could only make out some of its low growl but what he could parse sunk a cold fear into him. It was taunting Jon, telling him every detail of how it planned to destroy him. Below that sound was Jon’s quiet, whimpering whisper. It was so faint and so far, but Martin could hear it still.

“Jon?” he called out, his voice shaking. The sound of it echoed down the tunnels.

“Martin?” an equally terrified voice yelled back. There was the sound of him stumbling followed by a triumphant roar from the monster. “Martin! Get-no, stay-stay where you are!”

He could hear Jon sprinting away from his pursuer, desperate, panicked cries escaping him every so often. The monster laughed maniacally over the sound of many crawling legs. Martin was paralyzed. If he went to help, he would no doubt get lost. If he stayed, there was a rather high chance he would bear auditory witness to Jon’s death.

He took a step forward and then stopped himself, bracing himself with a hand against the tunnel wall. “Jon! Just-Listen, ok! Listen! Follow my voice! I’m at the door!”

There came no reply, only the continued sound of running, chasing, terrorizing. Martin kept shouting. Calling for him, hoping that it would lead Jon back to him. It was a hard enough to navigate the tunnels when their arrangement was always changing. It would be near impossible if you were running for your life.

All other sound beyond Martin’s own pleading ceased, plunging the tunnels into an eerie quiet. For some reason, this worried Martin far more than the sounds of the chase. What if the monster had come after him instead and was waiting to pounce? What if it got Jon and he was being eaten alive? What if Martin never got to say-

“Martin!” Jon’s voice was nearer but choked with fear and struggling to be heard over a giddy snarling. “Martin, I’m sorry!”

Martin shoved his growing alarm aside and replaced it with a stubborn rage. He shouted, “Don’t say that! Don’t be sorry! Just get out!”

Suddenly, Jon appeared through a junction. He turned his head at the sound of Martin’s relieved cry. Their solace was instantaneous but brief. Jon ran toward him, faster even then when they’d sprinted through these tunnels to escape Jane Prentiss. Martin held one hand on the lip of the trapdoor and the other hung in the air, reaching. He was otherwise frozen in terror.

Then, on Jon’s heels came the monster, its own momentum sending it crashing into the opposite wall of the tunnel from where it came. The instant it appeared, the image of it was seared into Martin’s memory. It had too much of everything, teeth, legs, claws, and they all twisted together in a sickening array. What Martin assumed was its head was smooth and featureless beyond its gaping maw, dripping with blood in a thrilled grin.

The impact of its fall shook the ground beneath them, and Jon collapsed to the floor, tumbling helplessly towards Martin.

“Go!” he cried hoarsely, glancing back at the monster, already back on its feet.

He should have. Any logical person would have listened and run for their life. But Martin was not a logical person.

Without hesitation, Martin broke away from the steps and went to Jon. Jon’s eyes, already like saucers, widened ever further. He shook his head frantically, dragging himself forward, too shaken to get to his feet on his own. Martin ignored his desperate protests and braced an arm around Jon’s shoulders. With a strength neither of them anticipated, he pulled him to his feet and ran as best he could.

Jon stumbled forward alongside him. Adrenaline was the only thing carrying him forward-carrying _either_ of them forward. Martin hauled him up the steep steps and then shoved him through the open door. Jon grabbed at Martin’s sleeve and pulled as Martin crested the steps. The monster closed in behind them. Martin swore he could feel its breath hot on his neck.

He collapsed onto the floor. “Close it! Close the door!”

Jon scrabbled forward and slammed it shut. There was a deafening thud hardly a second later as the creature threw itself against the door. Jon dug frantically through his pockets and then produced a key. He locked and latched the door. The banging continued but, for now, the door held.

Slowly, Jon rose from his knelt position and backed away. His expression was one of hollow dread, realization at how imminent his death had been just moments ago. Violent shaking overtook his hands which he raised to grab at his forearms, digging his nails into his skin. Without the barrier of his jacket, he surely would have been causing himself further injury.

This all happened in the briefest of seconds. Martin surged forward to intercept Jon’s crisis in favor of getting the hell out of here. “Jon! Jon, stop! We have to get out of here! Now! _NOW!_ ”

Martin was dragging Jon along again, bearing his full weight against his side. He felt like he could still feel that hideous, rattling vibration all the way to the parking lot. Winding their way through the institute, he looked to Jon every so often. There was nothing there, lost to the labyrinth in his own mind.

“Your keys,” Martin prompted once they got to the parking lot. His tone was unintentionally sharp, but Jon didn’t acknowledge him even then. He stood there, empty. Martin shook him by the shoulders. Got in his face. “Jon! Look at me! Where are your keys? We need to leave!”

Recognition came to him just enough to register Martin’s words. He patted at his pockets until he found his key ring and handed it to Martin. His mouth hung open just barely as he took in deep, shuddering breaths. Martin goaded him into the passenger seat and put himself behind the wheel, checking over his shoulder every other second in fear that the monster had somehow escaped and was after them.

Martin was on high alert as he drove through the streets of London, his vision darting around constantly in apprehension. Jon’s rate of breathing quickly accelerated. Martin watched the trembling spread from Jon’s hands to overtake his entire body. It consumed him.

Jon lifted his hands to drag them through his hair and began to double over into a fetal position. Having been silent since they’d made their way out of the tunnels, he now babbled on unstoppably. Without pause he recounted every last detail as if there weren’t enough time in the world to relay the story.

“Jon. Jon! Just-take a couple deep breaths. It’s ok. We’re ok.”

Martin said this despite not really believing it himself, but it was fruitless. From his position at the driver’s seat, he felt helpless to do anything, and then he felt angry. He was tired of being helpless and afraid and paralyzed with indecision. Martin snatched Jon’s hand in his own and pulled it down to the center console.

The torrential flood of Jon’s recollection stopped entirely. He stared at Martin, unblinking. Martin glanced back through his periphery.

He shifted his hand until their fingers were knit together. “Just breathe. Just-just-just take a second and breathe! Ok? I-I’ll figure out where we’re going and then we’ll figure the rest out whenever we get there.”

Jon didn’t answer. He just took in a few shallow, uncertain breaths and kept staring. Whenever a tremble swept through him, or he began to hyperventilate, Martin squeezed his hand. It grounded him. It grounded them both. Even if all the terrifying, horrible monsters of the world were still out there, waiting for them, they were still here with one another.

“How…how did you know where I live,” Jon wondered as Martin unlocked his door and lead them inside.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Jon was limping rather severely. Getting him up to his flat had been a long and laborious affair. One of his pantlegs was torn and caked in blood. Along with the wounds on his leg, Jon’s hands and face were covered in scrapes and cuts. His glasses were cracked, and his hair was a wild mess where it had escaped from his ponytail.

“I just knew,” Martin said as he deposited Jon onto the sofa. “You have any first aid?”

“In the bathroom…under the sink.”

When Martin returned, Jon had his pant leg rolled up. He was trembling again but not nearly so severe as before. Kneeling before him, Martin cleaned the cuts and wiped away the excess blood as gently as he could manage. Jon flinched but didn’t protest. Looking over the wounds, Martin decided stitches were unnecessary. It would be easier to take care of this here where they wouldn’t have any explaining to do, anyway.

“I’ve been going down there for months, trying to find that thing,” he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling as Martin wrapped gauze around his leg. His tone was less frantic than it’d been in the car but no less harrowed. “I just kept hearing it. I didn’t know what it was, but I had to know. I _needed_ to know, and it was just never there. I’d hear it and then I’d actually go down there and there was nothing. I-It was watching me. It was waiting until it knew just enough to torture me. Make the kill that much more satisfying.”

“You’re alright now, Jon. You’re here,” Martin said in a calm, even tone, trying to soothe him.

The memory of the fear was consuming him, his volume rising. “It said it was going to eat my life. That it was going to wear me. _Be_ me. It said it wouldn’t even need to do a good job. No one would notice if something else took my place. And you know what the worst part is?”

“Jon, don’t.”

“It was right.”

His trembling was back. It had never truly left, but again it overtook him along with that hollow stare. Martin soaked another cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and ran it over the scrapes on Jon’s hands. He left one hand firm around his wrist in some effort towards comfort, but Jon was lost to his own misery.

Jon’s terrified, babbling words had echoed through the room. Truly, the flat was rather modest but seemed spacious because of how sparsely it was decorated. Here in the living room, the only furnishings were the couch, a coffee table, and a television. A dozen or so books were stacked in a precarious pile by the entrance to the kitchen. The walls were bare. It looked more like the last belongings of someone who had moved out quickly, rather than the furnishings of someone who was actually living here.

It was lonely.

As he cleaned Jon’s wounds, Martin took in the sight of him. Jon had never given pf the impression of someone who spent time caring for himself, but he was outright haggard now. Even ruling out the obvious, the lack of self-attentiveness was obvious. He was thinner than he had been, and that was saying something. His features were gaunt, sunken. The dark circles beneath his eyes were prominent. The amount of grey in his hair had increased exponentially and was a tangled, unruly mess.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal,” Martin interrupted, standing up.

Jon looked up at him. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

“Why?”

Martin made his way toward the kitchen. “Just let me.”

“You don’t have to take care of me, Martin. You can go.”

A defensive anger flared up inside of him and he planted his palms on the kitchen counter, turned away from Jon. He took in a deep breath and concentrated on staying calm. “I want to do this, Jon. Making you dinner is just as much of a comfort for me as it is for you.”

Jon made no reply and Martin set about sifting through his cabinets. The kitchen was as close to empty as the living room. Dusting off a box of pasta which had been hidden at the back of a low shelf, Martin wondered how Jon even survived. He didn’t even have any tea.

The pot came to a boil and Martin stirred in the noodles, doing his best to keep it together. Falling apart would do neither of them any good. For now, if he just concentrated on being helpful there was nothing else to worry about. Jon shifted to lie back on the couch, releasing an anguished breath as he did so. Martin wanted to do so much more for him, but he would settle on making him a meal.

He assembled the noodles together with some butter from the fridge and a bit of salt. It would make do. Not the most nutritious but filling, at least. Jon looked up at him, wide eyed as he proffered the bowl. Martin extended the pasta undeniably into Jon’s personal space. Gingerly, he accepted the offer and brought it to his chest.

It was like he was waiting for Martin to hurt him in some way. When was the last time anyone had shown him any kindness, Martin wondered. Then, when was the last he let someone? He shrugged off the idea and sank to sit on the floor, his back pressed against the couch.

“You’re not having any?” Jon asked meekly from above.

“No, uh, I,” Martin muttered, feeling a deep blush despite himself. “I was actually out to dinner before I stopped by the institute.”

“Oh.”

“It was going pretty bad though,” Martin continued, unsure of why he felt the need to explain himself. “I mean, it always does with me. It’s kinda why I was there when, uh, you know. Almost got eaten? I just wanted any excuse to get out of there and came by to get something Tim borrowed from me. Good timing, I guess.”

“Good timing,” Jon agreed. As always, it was obvious he had more to say. Far more obvious that he would never say it.

He slid to the floor and sat at the opposite end of the couch. Martin was tempted to protest and insist that he lay down with his leg elevated but found that he lacked the energy. The two of them stared ahead, allowing the events of the evening to permeate their comprehension. The sound of their breathing filled the air, in near perfect synch.

Then, Martin realized something.

“Jon,” he asked. “Is that my jacket?”

Jon looked down slowly and then something like horror dawned on him. It looked almost as if he was flushed but Martin couldn’t tell from how Jon had angled himself away. He immediately began to sputter apologies, and his hands flew up to work frantically at the buttons in an effort to remove the jacket. Before he could, Martin reached out to shoo his hands away. Jon flinched, and his startled, almost fearful expression would have made Martin laugh had their lives not been in peril earlier that night. Instead, he just felt sad.

“It’s alright, it’s just…hadn’t seen it in a while.” He sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “Forgot I gave it to you.”

Jon’s hands worried at the buttons again, an absent fidgeting. “You can have it back if you want.”

“No, it’s ok. I’ve gotten used to being without it.”

Jon turned his head down, his expression clouding. Martin got the distinct impression he’d said the wrong thing, but he had no idea why. It’s not like Jon would just tell him, and he was too exhausted to pry. He was too exhausted to try anything right now. There was a long pause before either of them spoke again, both of them swirling in an internal cosmos of their own consternation.

Jon let out a deep sigh and turned back towards Martin again. “Martin-that weekend. I really am-”

Martin cut him off abruptly, looking away. “Jon, you don’t have to-”

“But I want to.” Jon took Martin’s hands in his own and then dropped them just as suddenly. They looked at one another, equally shocked. “If you’ll let me.”

“Ok,” Martin said softly, fighting off the blush that wanted so badly to return.

Jon gritted his teeth and concentrated on the floor as if preparing to give a rehearsed speech. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did that weekend. I was selfish and rude and outright cruel at times, and I knew I was doing that and I didn’t stop myself. I invited you to come along with me because I wanted us to be better friends, and then I spent the entire trip pushing you away. I was the worst possible version of myself because it was easier than saying how I felt. I’m sorry, and I know sorry doesn’t make up for things, or fix them, or change things, but I want you to know I’m sorry-that I completely regret the way I treated you. I regret it every day.”

Jon’s voice broke on the last sentence, but he took in a sharp breath and looked to be concentrating dearly on not letting himself get overwhelmed. He stared adamantly at the floor.

Martin was silent for some time. The sentiment of Jon’s words sank in and then lodged in Martin’s chest, glowing there. He’d spent three months thinking about this apology, imaging how it might feel. He told himself countless times that an apology was all he had wanted. Now Martin had that, but he still didn’t know how he felt.

Jon was right. Hearing “sorry” didn’t just magically make everything better no matter how much Martin hoped it would. He wanted so badly to forgive Jon, but the hurt was still there, ignored and stifled and suppressed for months. Having to confront it head on made all the pain feel brand new again

Then he noticed Jon had looked up and was staring at him, nervous and expectant. Maybe Martin didn’t have to feel better right now. Maybe he could just take the first step.

“Thank you, Jon,” he whispered.

“That’s not all,” Jon replied all in a rush. He shifted closer to Martin. “I…I realized something while we were there. About myself. About how I felt…about you. I didn’t understand it and I was afraid of what it meant and so I pushed it away. And then I pushed you away at the same time. I’m sorry. I’ll never be more sorry about anything in my life.”

Martin looked away again and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Ok. What did _that_ mean? Martin thought Jon pushed him away in favor of obsessing over work. Now, Jon was telling him that the reason he pushed him away was some kind of _epiphany?_ What did he mean though about realizing something about himself? And he was afraid of what it meant? _What did any of that even mean?_

But then he felt Jons eyes back on him, awaiting a response yet again. Martin could figure out what Jon meant later. Understanding him was less important than continuing to make amends.

“I mean, I pushed you away too,” Martin said with a nervous laugh. “I was worried I upset you or something, like I made you uncomfortable when I kissed you and that’s why you were so distant. So, when we got back, I figured I’d make myself scarce and I asked Elias to transfer, but that was pretty childish now that I think about it. I could’ve told you in person, but I just took the cowards way out and ran away and ignored you because I was also pretty mad.”

Martin could feel the words spilling out of him and was unable to stop himself. Part of him didn’t want to. The honesty was a relief. Jon was still staring, now in disbelief for whatever reason.

“I’ve actually been, uh, been wanting to come back because I miss you guys so much. Peter sucks. But I, uh…I guess it would defeat the purpose of me transferring if I came back now. Like, I want to, but the big reason I left in the first place was because…well, because I was trying to get over my feelings for you…and I still haven’t.”

Martin, who had until now had been focusing on a spot on the wall and pointedly ignoring all else, suddenly felt himself dragged by the collar of his jumper to be face to face with Jon. The disbelief on his face had a ferocity to it now, and Martin couldn’t keep the responding shock from his expression.

“Don’t,” Jon said intensely, tightening his grip on Martin’s collar, bringing them closer.

“What,” Martin stuttered, searching his expression.

“Repeat what you just said.”

Martin felt his face growing red and looked away, only for Jon to reel him in closer. “Jon, please don’t make me.”

“Say it.”

“I still haven’t…” He looked back to Jon and was captivated by the hope and desperation in his eyes. “I still haven’t gotten over my feelings for you.”

“Don’t.”

_Oh…so that’s what he meant._

The tension that hung in the air between them lasted an eternity with a crackling electricity neither of them was willing to break. On the other side of this moment, they knew, waited an irrevocable change. Whatever was about to happen was tantalizing in its immutability, but a question remained.

Neither of them was accustomed to hope being met with anything other than tragedy. Martin had never known an optimism left unpunished. He knew what this was, and he wanted it so badly, but his uncertainty was a perpetual and chronic condition. Right now, everything about Jon was a reflection of his own hesitation, his own inability to claim what he wanted. Perhaps they would stay like that forever, suspended in a moment before, hearts racing simultaneously, distantly.

Whether seconds or hours have passed was indeterminable, and then the sound of Jon taking in a shaking, breath stirred Martin from his transfixed state. This whole time they’d been staring at one another, eyes locked. It felt dangerous to look away, but the intensity in Jon’s eyes was almost too much. If only for a second, he needed to turn his gaze elsewhere. Almost inevitably, he glanced at Jon’s lips, parted slightly as he breathed.

And then everything changed.

It would be impossible to tell who kissed the other first, but it didn’t matter. In an instant, they were colliding, moving together. With Jon collapsed in his embrace, Martin could feel his own heart beating, and for the first time did not wish it away or for its frantic pace to still. Every feeling Martin felt the first time Jon kissed him came flooding back, and then all of the confusion and fear and self-consciousness faded away away. In their place came the happiness Martin had dreamt of but never dared to accept. The kiss was messy and unpracticed, but it was perfect because of that, not in spite of it.

As Martin parted to take in a breath, Jon let out a disappointed huff, looking up at him in what could only be considered a pout. It made Martin laugh. After everything, it made him laugh because now he had this. Impossibly, he had this. He brought a hand up to cradle Jon’s jaw and let his gaze drift over his features, his disappointed but needy eyes, his cheeks dark with blush, the strands of silvery hair that frame his face, but his lips most of all.

“Impatient as ever,” Martin teased, unable to keep the fondness from his tone as he prevented Jon from diving into another kiss.

Slower this time, he guided them back together. Martin had every intent of savoring the moment and forced Jon to take his time despite the soft protesting whines that escaped him each time Martin separated them. Jon loosened his grip on Martin’s collar to loop around his neck, bringing them closer. When he was satisfied that Jon wouldn’t make another attempt at devouring him, surging against him as if some cosmic force was threatening to tear them apart, Martin deepened the kiss. They were no longer two forces colliding against one another. In a rhythm all their own, they moved together.

Martin was content to stay like that, hopefully forever, until his thumb brushed across Jon’s cheek and came away damp. Abruptly, he moved away to see tears streaming down Jon’s face.

“Jon? Oh my god, Jon. Are you okay? Is it your leg?”

“I-I thought,” Jon gasped through wracking sobs. “I never thought I’d get to have this. I thought I might never see you again.”

He fell back against Martin and nestled his face into the crook of his neck, his tears soaking into Martin’s collar. Martin smiled to himself, somewhere between astonishment and contentment, as he rubbed comforting circles into Jon’s back. The preceding events of the evening would seem a distant dream were it not for the bandages on Jon’s leg and his still horribly tangled hair that served as reminders.

Martin combed a hand through Jon’s tangles as best he could, pressing soft, adoring kisses to his temple. “It’s alright, Jon. I’ve got you, now. I’m here.”

His weeping gradually subsided into deep, steady breathing, and he relaxed back against Martin. He angled himself to press a kiss against Martin’s neck. Martin made no effort to suppress the soft chuckle that escaped him. Stuffy, academic, distant Jon was wrapped up in his arms, kissing at him like a lovestruck teenager.

“Alright, you,” Martin whispered, bracing his hands against Jon’s chest and pushing him into a sitting position. “I think it’s time we both got some rest.”

At that, Jon sat bolt upright, a look of realization on his face. “Oh. Yes, ah, um…”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply-Sorry,” Martin stammered, feeling embarrassed by his own assumptions. This was entirely new territory. “I mean-Jon, if it’s too soon to share a bed I understand. I can, uh, sleep on the couch.”

Jon dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, his expression communicating that Martin had misunderstood him entirely. “No, it’s not that. There’s just something in my bedroom I want you to have. Come on.”

“What?”

“No, not-just follow me, okay?”

He got to his feet with a surprising agility for someone who nearly had their leg taken off by a monster that night, but he slumped against Martin again as he got to his feet. Whether this was due to needing actual, physical support or simply because he desired to maintain that physical closeness was uncertain, but Martin couldn’t bring himself to care. Regardless of reason, he was happy to have his arm wound around Jon. He would’ve carried him if he asked.

At the bedroom door, Jon held out a hand for Martin to wait. Martin smiled, amused, at the sincerity of his insistence, but Jon fixed him with a serious look. It was still rather cute, but Martin put on a stern expression of his own, fighting off the teasing smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Jon rolled his eyes but retreated to the nightstand.

He looked over his shoulder from where he was hunched over the open drawer. “Don’t look,” he commanded.

Martin closed his eyes and let the smile overtake him. The sound of Jon’s footsteps came closer and then paused once back in front of Martin.

“Not yet,” he commanded as Martin was about to crack open an eye. “I…I wanted you to have this a while ago, but I didn’t do it right. When it comes to other people, I never seem to do things right, but…you’ve always been kind to me Martin. You were always patient with me until I lost the right to that patience.”

Martin opened his mouth to protest but a stern hand at his lips stopped him.

“Let me finish. I’m not mad for how you responded. I should’ve done better. I should’ve been kinder. I can’t change that. When I tried to give this to you, I should’ve been clearer about what I meant. I didn’t just want to _appease_ you. I wanted you to know that I was sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be done being sorry.”

Martin opened his eyes, already knowing what to expect. There, held in Jon’s hands, was the book he’d tried to give him all that time ago. He took it. It was more worn than it had been, more than it would have just from his discarding it in the dirt, more than if it had simply been kept in Jon’s nightstand until now.

“I’ve been reading it,” he admitted shyly. “It made me feel closer to you. It reminded me of you.”

Tears sprung to Martin’s eyes, threatening to spill over as he leafed through the pages. “I still have the note, you know.”

The look on Jon’s face was pure tragedy, everything written there so plain. Martin could tell a piece of Jon had died when he crumped that note and was now being resurrected despite all odds.

“You do?”

He handed the book back to Jon and fished out his wallet. Kept there always, just behind a picture with Tim and Sasha, was the note, still crumpled. Unread until now. Jon swallowed around his grief as he looked at it.

There it was again. The tension of a moment before. A moment before everything changed. The moment which hung in the balance of a history laden with tragedy and pain and heartache and an unknown future.

Jon closed his hand around Martin’s where he held the note between them. Their eyes met, an infinity communicated between them.

“Let me read it?” Jon asked, fragile.

Martin nodded.

“ _Martin,”_ his voice trembled and cracked. Martin wiped a tear from his cheek, barely able to keep his own from flowing. He gave Jon a certain, reassuring nod as their eyes met. Jon turned his gaze back to the letter.

“ _Martin,_

_I am not good at befriending others. I know this, and I know that you know this. I say this not as a means to excuse my actions, simply to provide better clarity as to their motivation.”_

Martin snorted and Jon flicked his gaze up from the note to share in the amusement. The phrasing was a bit pompous, but that was part of Jon’s charm, after all. Jon gave him a smile and then cleared his throat to continue on.

_“I’ve been callous. I know this and I apologize. You deserve better from me. Despite my injustices against you, you’ve been a friend to me. I’d like to be a better friend to you. I felt compelled to get this book not only because I care about you, Martin, but also because I care about the things you care about. I want to prove this to you, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to start here._

_Jon.”_

Martin wrapped his arm around Jon’s waist and tugged him into a kiss, this time all smiles and tears and heart-rending sentiment. When he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, he pressed his forehead to Jon’s. He looked into his eyes, seeing now all the love that Jon had to give. Martin took hold of the book again.

“I’m just curious, Jon,” he said, pausing to run his hand over the title. “But you did know this poetry wasn’t really about _friendship_ when you got it, right?”

Immediately, Jon took a step away and wrenched the book from Martin’s grip. He turned and looked over his shoulder in mock-offense. He laughed, overwhelmed at how happy he felt.

“If you must know,” he grumbled. “I took the title at face value. Not sure why you poets always have to be so-“

“Poetic?” Martin answered, coming up behind Jon to wrap his arms around him. Jon rolled his eyes as Martin placed a doting kiss to his cheek. “Imagine how confused I’d have been had I actually taken the time to see what it was.”

“It worked out didn’t it,” Jon argued, feigning indignance despite the way he leaned into Martin.

“Just took a near death experience,” Martin agreed. “Nothing better for kindling some romance.”

Jon turned to scowl at Martin, but his resolve melted in favor of meeting Martin in another kiss. How natural it felt already, Martin thought, to be holding him like this, kissing him like this, _loving him like this._ He wondered at what could have been had they gotten past this turbulence sooner, but the thoughts vanished in favor of watching the way Jon yawned, smiling so soft as he rested his head against Martin’s shoulder.

What could have been didn’t matter because this was what he had _now._ In fact, this was what he could have forever if he wanted, and Martin wanted. Martin wanted forever to be just like this. He wanted nights of dragging Jon to bed well past when he should have been, of Jon tucked up against him, head propped on Martin’s chest. He wanted mornings over shared cups of tea, getting dressed, commuting together, scaling the steps of the institute together as they chatted happily. He wanted shopping trips and date nights and weekends away and anniversaries.

There would be conflict. Of course there would be. Their job was putting them in frighteningly increasing contact with supernatural horrors, after all, and this _was_ Jon he was talking about. Martin didn’t delude himself with the idea that things would always be perfect, but he knew every disagreement and argument and life-threatening peril would be worth it as long as he had Jon. The world might be a cold and lonely place but having someone beside you through it made all the difference.

Jon curled himself closer against Martin where they were now lying together in bed. “Martin?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“Thank you-for not giving up on me.”

Martin wrapped his arms tighter around him, pressing his face into Jon’s hair. It wasn’t long before Jon’s breathing became even, relaxing in Martin’s arms as sleep ebbed at the tension ever-present in him. As he slept, Martin felt a pang of guilt. The truth was that he _had_ given up. He had walked away and done his best to forget about Jon even when Tim and Sasha kept him achingly aware of how Jon was falling apart. Martin had turned his back and left Jon to suffer alone.

But here Jon was, believing in him, _trusting_ in him to be there despite all Martin had done to erode that trust. Perhaps that’s what love was. It wasn’t about perfection and infallibility and eternal faith. Love could be this. Love could be the way they came back to one another, trying in the face of terror to find peace together. For all that meant love was happy, gentle, and patient, it could also be tumultuous, frustrating and difficult, but it was all part of it.

For them, love wouldn’t be about fate. Time and again, love would be about coming together and choosing each other even as the world fell apart around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love these boys  
> also! this fic is NOT! over! come back next week for a very sappy soft epilogue/conclusion


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